


Of Cats and Men

by Thei



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (or at least enemies to friends to friends who kiss), (the cats and billy both), Animal Death, Cats, Child Abuse, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Kittens, M/M, Neil Hargrove Being an Asshole, billy does not like feeling like he owes people anything, billy likes animals more than people, enemies to co-parents?, he would burn the world for his kittens, mentions of cruelty to animals, secretly kittens!, steve doesn't exactly hate them either, they're growing on him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:33:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22147960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thei/pseuds/Thei
Summary: Billy hits a cat with his car, and finds himself responsible for three little kittens.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 284
Kudos: 848





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're afraid of WIPs: this story is finished, I'm just going through chapters one by one before posting them.
> 
> Please be aware that the first chapter will contain mentions of animal abuse and the death of an animal.

It’s raining, and it’s dark out, and Billy is cursing at everything from the trees to the roads to the shitty weather in this shitty goddamn town as he soars down the road in his Camaro.

He’s late.

Neil will forgive him for it, probably, if he blames the weather. His dad has always drilled into him to be a responsible driver – which may or may not be the reason why Billy likes to drive fast and recklessly when he can – but that’s because he usually drives Max around. Max isn’t in the car now, though, so maybe Neil won’t be so forgiving after all?

His fingers grip tighter around the steering wheel, and his foot presses down on the gas pedal. The speed increases, and Billy wishes he could turn around – turn the car towards California and just drive, drive back home and never look back, never even think about this goddamn backwards town again –

Something runs across the road – too fast for Billy to see anything but a blur of movement in the Camaro’s headlights – and Billy swears. He turns the wheel and slams down on the breaks, but there’s a low thump and he knows he was too late; knows that whatever it was, he hit it.

The car skids to a stop, halfway into the gravel on the side of the road, and Billy doesn’t move for a couple of seconds. His heart is beating fast and he’s staring straight ahead – still gripping the steering wheel – before he blinks and lets out another curse. He runs a shaking hand through his hair and then down his face before he turns and peers out through the window.

He can’t see anything. Just a vast expanse of dark road in both directions, with trees lining it on both sides. The lights are illuminating a couple of trees on the other side of the road, and the rain is thundering down on the roof and windshield, making Billy feel like he’s sitting in a tin can in a hailstorm. Shakily, he turns the ignition off, and the car goes dark and quiet, which makes the noise from the rain sound even louder.

All of a sudden, the darkness around him feels much more imposing, and he fumbles under the passenger seat for the flashlight he knows is there, somewhere. When he finds it, and turns it on, the weak beam of light feels like a calming presence as he opens the door and exits the car.

He knows he hit something. And he _could_ keep driving, but – well, he’s going to need an excuse for being late, anyway. This is as good of an excuse as any. He’s only doing the right thing, after all. Taking responsibility for his actions. Neil can’t say shit about that.

But also ... the blurry figure that ran across the road wasn’t very big. There’s a tightness in his stomach when he thinks about it, and he’s frowning as he moves the flashlight across the wet asphalt, looking for a trace of what he hit.

The rain is pouring down, and soaks through his clothes in no time. It only takes him a couple of minutes to find a dark shape lying halfway into the ditch, but when he does he has to shake the water out of his hair to even be able to see it properly.

He kneels next to it, and his face crumbles.

“Oh no.”

***

_When Billy was younger, he had a cat. Her name was Missy; she was black with a couple of white spots and a pink nose, and she was beautiful. Missy was his best friend in the whole wide world. After Missy had her accident, she lived in agony for two days before she finally died, and Billy didn’t leave her side during this time. He’d tried to do what he could for her, but he was a kid and he didn’t know what to do and he had no money to take her to a veterinarian. So Missy died, and Billy ... Billy mourned her, and missed her, the way only a lonely child can miss his best friend._

***

Now, Billy is older. He still doesn’t know what to do, but at least this time, he can drive. He can drive, and he has some money on him. So with shaking hands, he shrugs off his denim jacket and uses it to gently scoop up the unmoving cat into his arms. He hurries back to the Camaro, all thoughts of Neil and his own tardiness swept aside for now, in the face of this new and urgent situation. He gets in the car, places the bundle on the passenger seat and slams the door shut, not caring that he’s getting rainwater all over the car’s interior.

This time, when he drives off, he’s even less mindful of the speed limit.

The thing is, that there is no veterinarian in Hawkins. He knows, though, that there should be a veterinarian’s office one town over, so that’s where he’s driving. It’s late at night and he _should_ be going home – should be working on his excuse for being late, should have kept driving – but he thinks of Missy, and he doesn’t hesitate.

It’s still raining when he finally gets there. He has to stop at a phone booth to leaf through the phone book for the address, and as he does, he glances at his watch. It’s after midnight already. This town is small. There’s no way Cook’s Veterinary Clinic is open at this time of night. But there’s a name; Dr David Cook. Frantically, Billy turns the pages of the phone book until he finds the man’s phone number. He’s got some coins in his pocket, so he makes the call.

The person who picks up is not a man, though. It’s a woman, and she sounds apprehensive.

“Hello?”

Billy is cold, and wet, and his heart is in his throat at the thought of the bundle in his front seat. He licks his lips and tries for polite.

“Yes, I’m sorry to be calling so late, but I’m ... Is this the home of David Cook? The veterinarian?”

The woman’s voice sounds less hesitant when she speaks again. “Yes, it is. He’s my husband.”

“Is he ...” Billy swallows. “Is he in? I ... I need his help. I drove from Hawkins, and I– “

“Hawkins? At this time of night?” There’s a muffled sound from the other end, as if the woman had covered the receiver with her hand. Billy thinks he can hear voices, but he can’t hear what they’re saying, not over the rain hitting the glass of the phone booth. Then the woman’s voice is back, and she asks, “What happened?”

“I hit a cat with my car”, Billy admits and hates the way his voice trembles, the way he sounds so young, and so afraid. “I don’t know what to do.”

More muffled sounds, and when the woman returns she tells him in a no-nonsense voice to drive to the clinic and wait there, and that they’ll be there as soon as possible. Billy feels relief wash over him, and thanks her profusely, but she has already hung up.

He gets to the clinic in four minutes, and parks haphazardly in the dark parking lot outside. There’s a little outcrop over the entrance that protects him from the rain, so he takes the cat in his arms and goes to wait there. The cat is still breathing, but its fur is bloodying Billy’s jacket and its eyes are closed. And all Billy can do is stand there, and wait.

***

_Billy couldn’t remember a time when his parents weren’t fighting. Missy made it better. He would sit with her in his lap, and she would allow herself to be petted, and he would hear his dad’s raised voice from outside the door to his room, and sometimes he would hear his mom’s voice too (but never as loud as Neil’s), and he would be able to ignore it – the shouting and the thumps and the crying – because he had Missy._

_In the end, Billy’s mom left. She cried over the phone and said she was sorry, and Billy cried too, but despite how much he begged, she didn’t come back. And for a time, things actually seemed to be better. There were no fights, no arguments. It was quiet. Not the good kind of quiet, though, but Billy was so young. He couldn’t have known. He was too busy missing his mom._

_Things eventually got worse with his dad. Neil started yelling at Billy for small things; sometimes for no reason at all. He grabbed him, hard, and by the time Billy had started hiding bruises on his wrists and arms, Neil had already started shoving him into things. Then came the slaps. Billy learned how to slide soundlessly through the house – like Missy did – because his dad didn’t like a lot of noise. Missy was growing – she was more than a year old by this point – but she still let Billy pull her into his lap after an argument with his dad. He was careful not to let Neil see it, though, because his dad hated when he showed weakness (unless it was during an argument; Neil_ wanted _Billy’s weaknesses, then)._

_Holding Missy in his arms made him feel like he wasn’t alone, and if he cried during those times, then his tears would disappear into her fur. After a while, it was like they’d never even fallen in the first place._

***

Billy doesn’t cry, where he’s standing with a bloody cat in his arms while waiting for someone who can help, because it has been drilled into him that boys don’t cry, even though there is no one there to see him. Instead, he is tense and jittery, and has trouble standing still. He wants a smoke, but he needs both of his arms to hold the cat and he would have to put the bundle down to reach into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes and his lighter.

So he doesn’t smoke.

He’s been waiting for twenty minutes, tops, when a car drives into the lot and parks next to the Camaro. Two people get out – a man and a woman. They go straight for him, and the man nods at him and goes to unlock the door while the woman meets Billy’s eyes and gives him a little smile.

“I’m Wendy”, she says. “We spoke on the phone? This is my husband, David. Now, who is this little fellow?”

She peers into his arms and tuts, and Billy doesn’t know what to do so he’s relieved when the man – David – gets the door open and motions for him to enter. Wendy goes behind the front desk and pushes some buttons, and the fluorescent lights in the ceiling lights up the surprisingly cozy little waiting room.

Billy doesn’t have to wait, though. Dr Cook shows him straight into another room, where he’s finally allowed to put the cat down. After Wendy and Dr Cook share a look, Wendy takes Billy under an arm and shows him back out into the waiting room. She sits him down in one of the four chairs, and pats him on the shoulder.

Billy blinks. It doesn’t seem real, where he is now. Outside, the rain is still pouring down, and it’s in the middle of the night, and yet here he is, sitting in a plastic chair in a brightly lit room, soaked to the bone and shivering, while a lady with a friendly smile hovers over him and is bringing him a glass of water.

He doesn’t say that he’s not thirsty. He doesn’t joke and say that he’s had enough water to last him a lifetime. Instead, he thinks of the thump the cat’s body made when he hit it with his car, and the gratefully takes the glass to keep his hands from shaking. He doesn’t know why this is affecting him so much. It’s not even his cat.

“Now don’t you worry, David will do his best”, Wendy says, and he looks up at her.

And he remembers, suddenly, that he’s older now. He has responsibilities. He puts the glass down on the chair next to him, and fishes out his wallet. He doesn’t know how much this is going to cost, and he doesn’t have a lot, but he grabs all the bills and pushes them into the woman’s hands. When he meets her eyes, she looks between the money and him, and he can’t read her expression. Suddenly he’s terrified that it’s not going to be enough.

“I’m sorry”, he says, “I don’t know how much …” He fumbles with his watch, takes it off his wrist and holds it out for her to take. “I have more money at home, but ...” He gestures with the watch. “I can come back. Tomorrow.”

Her face softens, and she gently pushes him back, putting the watch back in his hand.

“This is enough”, she says, indicating the money that – Billy _knows,_ now – is not even close to enough.

She sees something in his face, probably, because she smiles and stands up. “It’s just good to see someone who cares.”

***

 _Billy cared_ so much _about Missy, and maybe that was his mistake. Because Neil might have hated when he showed weakness, but not weakness that he could use against Billy. And one time when he had Billy up against a wall with a meaty hand gripping his face, Missy came up to them. Billy didn’t even notice at first, and neither did Neil, not until Missy made a soft noise of protest. Both of them looked down, at Missy who had inserted herself between Billy and Neil. Neil, annoyed, kicked her out of the way, and Billy –_

_– Billy screamed._

_It earned him a punch, of course, and it hurt like it always did, but worse than that was the fact that Neil_ knew _now. It was too late to take it back, to pretend that he didn’t care. Neil knew Billy’s weakness, and he would use it against him every way he could._

 _From that moment on, when Billy did something wrong, Neil would threaten Missy, or hurt her. He would pick her up by the nape of her neck (and, once, by her tail) and shake her in Billy’s face, or he would kick her or hit her – and Billy would shake and beg and fall in line and give in and do whatever Neil wanted. Billy was terrified for her – because she was his best friend and given to him by his mother – and tried to do everything right in Neil’s eyes. But Billy kept messing up, and Missy kept getting hurt (and Billy was so_ young _, he couldn’t have known that Neil didn’t need reasons; he just needed excuses)._

_And then one time, Neil kicked Missy into a wall so hard the she stopped moving. When he left the room, after shouting in Billy’s face, Billy knelt by her side and tried to make her get up, but she didn’t move. She didn’t move, and Billy cried._

_She lived for two days, after that._

_Billy refused to leave her side. He’d tried to make her comfortable, tried to feed her and make her get up, but he was a kid and he didn’t know how to make this right again. So Missy died, and Billy cried, and not even Neil slapping him around could make him stop once he got started, because Missy was his best friend and Neil had killed her._

_He screamed in his dad’s face, then; threw accusations and anger and all the hate his young self could muster up at his dad, until Neil grabbed him by his shirt and pushed him down to the floor next to her dead body. Neil put his hand around Billy’s throat until Billy couldn’t breathe, until he had to quiet down because he couldn’t get enough air to do more than whimper, and then he leaned in close and said that the cat had been Billy’s to take care of, and if she’d died it was because Billy hadn’t done his job right, and that if anything,_ Billy _was the reason she was dead._

_“You have to learn to take responsibility for your actions, son.”_

***

“I’m sorry, son”, Dr Cook says, an hour or so later, when he walks back out into the waiting room. He’s holding Billy’s bloody jacket out to him awkwardly, and his face is solemn and sincere.

And Billy, all of a sudden, can’t breathe. Maybe Missy wasn’t really his fault – he’s old enough to realize that Neil kicking her into the wall was what killed her – but this time it really _is_ his fault; he hit this cat with his car, and she died because of him.

As he numbly reaches out for his jacket, Dr Cook makes a face.

“I don’t know if–“ He take a deep breath, and glances over to where his wife is sitting, behind the counter. “I don’t know if it matters, but it seems as if she’s recently had kittens.”

And Billy goes cold.

***

_Even as a child, Billy knew that his dad hurt his mom. The walls were thin, and he could hear them arguing. He heard his dad raise his voice, he heard his mom try to explain, and he heard the sounds of his dad hitting his mom. He heard her cry, after, and sometimes he caught a glance of the redness of her face and the tears she tried to blink out of her eyes before he saw them._

_He hadn’t just heard it, though. He’d seen it, too. Several times. Often, they were both too preoccupied (his dad with his anger, and his mom with trying to shield herself) to notice him, and more often than not, he was hiding – making himself small, so they wouldn’t notice him. He wanted to help his mom, but his dad’s voice was so angry, and he didn’t want to make his dad angry. His mom always said not to make Neil mad._

_The first time his mom saw him witnessing their altercation, her eyes widened and she started crying, even before Neil had gotten many hits in. Billy met his mom’s eyes, and she looked so sad that he couldn’t bear it anymore, so he ran back to his room and shut the door._

_The next day, his mom brought home a kitten._

_It was a tiny thing, with big eyes and soft fur, and a tiny little tail that Billy couldn’t help but trace with his finger. He looked up at his mom with raised eyebrows, and his mom smiled down at him._

_“Her name is Missy”, she said. “And she’s yours now.”_

_She went on to tell him that Missy didn’t like it much when people argued, so whenever Billy heard his parents arguing, he was to take Missy to his room and close the door and hug her, and keep her safe. And Billy had never been entrusted with the safety of another living creature before, so he solemnly promised to do his best to take care of her._

_That night, there was a fight. His dad was yelling about the kitten, and his mom was getting loud, too, and kind of desperate, but Billy did what she told him to do. He took Missy into his room, and tied a knot on a piece of string and played with her for a while. When the voices lowered in the living room, and were replaced by other (worse) sounds, he pulled Missy into his arms and hugged her close, and whispered, “Don’t be afraid, it’s going to be okay, don’t be scared, Missy.”_

_Her fur was soft, and soaked up his tears._

_In the morning, Neil gruffly told him that he could keep the cat, but that it would be his responsibility to take care of it._

***

Driving back to Hawkins, Billy feels numb. After talking to Dr Cook for a while, he had thanked the man and his wife, and gone back out and sat in the Camaro for several minutes.

The facts were these; he’d hit a cat with his car. It was an accident, but it was on him. She was dead because of him. There was nothing he could do about that. But Dr Cook said that she had kittens, somewhere. And _that_ , Billy could maybe do something about.

“I’d start by looking around the place where it happened”, Dr Cook had said. “But cats can walk long distances, and they usually try to hide their children to protect them –“

Yeah, Billy had some experience with that.

“– so you’ll want to look in small, hidden spaces. A mother cat will put her kittens in a safe, quiet place – crawl spaces or abandoned buildings, or a barn maybe?”

It’s still raining when he finally reaches the spot where the cat ran across the road. It’s past 2 o’clock am and he’s _way_ past his curfew and Neil is going to be pissed, but he’s going to be pissed either way. There’s no use in hurrying home, now.

He takes his flashlight and leaves the Camaro by the side of the road, halfway into the mud, and makes sure to lock it, just in case. Then he spends an hour and a half searching the immediate surroundings for the kittens the mother cat allegedly left behind. He doesn’t expect to find them, he really doesn’t, so it’s a shock when he stumbles across an old rusty car in the middle of the woods (how did it even get here in the first place? He’s wandered far from the road by now) and hears something. The only reason he hears it is because the rain has finally let up, and he’s wet and cold and tired and ready to go home, but when he sees the skeleton of the car he remembers what Dr Cook said about small, hidden spaces, and decides to give it a shot.

And there’s a noise. A small, almost unnoticeable noise.

The car is so rusty that he can’t even see what color it must have been, once, and there’s a hole in the roof and all the windows are gone and the hood of it is also missing and where the engine should be, a small tree emerges. It must have been here for a very long time.

But the noise. Where is it coming from?

The wheels of the car are long gone, and the body of it is lying on the ground, but there is a rock under the back of the car that keeps a part of it a couple of inches off the ground. Billy lies down, belly to the squishy ground, and shines his flashlight under the car. And there, miracle of miracles, something is moving. He sees eyes, reflecting in the light from the flashlight, and he lets out a sound that is half exhale, half croon.

“ _There_ you are …”

He has to crawl through the mud to reach them, and he tears his shirt on the rusty metal above him, and he probably looks like a right mess, but he emerges with three tiny kittens, all of which are moving and making small noises that make his heart clench painfully in his chest.

His shirt is all wet and everything is cold, and Dr Cook had told him that it was important to keep them warm if he found them, so Billy puts them inside his (wet) shirt and holds them there with one hand, and only grimaces a little when they squirm against his chest.

He hurries back to the car, thoughts whirling around in his head.

He didn’t actually think he’d find them, is the thing. Now when he has, he’s not sure of what he’ll do.

He remembers how Neil kicked Missy into the wall. How she didn’t move, after. How she suffered before she died.

But he also remembers Neil’s voice, that first morning, as he glared at the kitten in Billy’s arms during breakfast. “You can keep the cat. But she is yours to take care of, William. She is your responsibility now.”

He feels something a little like determination and a lot like dread form like a ball of lead in his stomach. These little creatures are his to take care of, now. He killed their mother, so they are _his responsibility_ now.

And that means that he has to keep them far away from his dad.


	2. Chapter 2

The house is dark when he gets home, but he parks down the street just to be safe. The kittens are no longer making noise, which on the one hand makes it easier to get in unnoticed – but it also makes him afraid that they’ve died already, before he even got a chance to save them.

He is absolutely drenched, and the wet fabric clings to his skin and the three tiny bumps underneath his shirt. He holds an arm protectively around them when he unlocks the door and silently – as silently as he can – closes it behind him. He glances around. The door to the room that his dad and Susan share is closed, and there is no one waiting for him in the armchair. The house is silent.

A wriggle from under his shirt and a barely-there sound makes him move. He has never before been so grateful that his room is the closest to the front door.

Still, his room doesn’t have a lock on it. Neil doesn’t believe in locks, at least not for a teenage boy. So after Billy has dumped the three little kittens on his bed, he silently drags his dresser over to the door and places it there. It will buy him a few seconds, in case Neil feels like dragging him out of bed early as punishment for not getting home in time. Seconds that he will need to hide the kittens – and also something that he will pay dearly for if Neil discovers it.

He hopes he wakes up early, so he can put the dresser back before that happens.

With as close to a locked door as he can get, he turns his attention to the three little bundles on the bed. Two of them are moving around a little, the third one is lying still. He sits down on the edge of the mattress and gently picks up the one who’s not moving. It’s alive, but its fur is all wet and sticking up in all directions. It looks absolutely miserable, and his heart clenches painfully. When he touches the kitten, it moves its head and looks at him. Opens its mouth and lets out a sound so small and pitiful that Billy has to bite his lip.

He puts it back down on the bed. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s in way over his head here.

It’s the middle of the night – closer to morning, really – and he doesn’t know what to _do_. He can’t call Dr Cook until the morning, so until then, all he can really do is to follow his advice and keep them warm.

Which means close to him. Body heat, or whatever. He’s read about hypothermia, and knows that body heat is the way to go. But also, if Neil is to walk in, and sees him with his arms full of cats – well, that would be bad.

In the end, he decides on a compromise. He pulls out his bed from the wall, just a little, and rifles through his closet until he finds an old shoebox filled with letters and photos from when he was younger. He removes the contents of the box, and pulls a shirt he rarely uses down from a hanger, and stuffs it in there. Then he bends down under his bed and puts the box on the floor by the wall.

If push comes to shove and Neil barges in unannounced, the dresser in front of the door will give him time to put the kittens down into the box, and hopefully Neil will be too busy being angry to notice that the bed isn’t pushed all the way up against the wall.

It’s just a precaution. Hopefully, nothing will happen, but Billy learned a long time ago to plan for every eventuality when it comes to Neil.

Billy kicks off his shoes, shimmies out of his wet jeans and takes off his shirt. He hangs everything up to dry, but knows he’ll have to find something else to wear tomorrow – or, rather, later today. He pulls on an old threadbare T-shirt that he hasn’t worn in more than a year, which he finds in the bottom of a drawer, and then he finally climbs into bed.

Arranging himself so that he’s lying between the kittens and the rest of the room, he sinks down onto the mattress and rolls over to the side so he can watch them. He puts his arm around them so they won’t fall off the edge of the bed, and smiles when one of them protests the movement and turns its head towards his hand. Its nose briefly touches his skin. His eyes sting. Carefully, so carefully, he curls his fingers around the little cat. Pets it, softly, with his thumb. It closes its eyes and lies down, and Billy …

Billy feels tears well up in his eyes.

He doesn’t know why, exactly. But it’s been a long night, and he’s exhausted and shivering with what must be cold. That’s is probably why.

With the hand that isn’t curled around the three kittens, he pulls his blanket up over his shoulder, and arranges it so that it covers the cats as well, while still leaving enough of an opening to give them air. And then he finally, _finally_ , lets himself relax.

***

He barely sleeps, though. Slumbers, maybe, but only for a few minutes at the time. He wakes at every sound; a car passing outside the house, the kittens mewling, Susan’s steps as she walks into the kitchen and pours herself a glass of water.

When he hears his dad’s heavier steps walk out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, Billy tenses and gets up. He hasn’t gotten much sleep, but at least he’s had time to figure out what to do next.

So he puts the shoe box on the floor in his closet and hides it behind as much stuff as he can. He puts the kittens in the box – and all of them have survived the night (Billy doesn’t dare to be hopeful, not yet). Then he closes the door to the closet almost all the way, but keeps it ajar with a boot – so that no kittens will get out, but also so that they will get enough air.

No one usually goes into his room uninvited – unless it’s Neil, and Neil only does it if he suspects something, or if he’s going after Billy for doing something wrong. And, yes, Billy _did_ come home late last night, but he will just have to try to keep any possible altercations to the outside his room.

His best bet is to just suck it up and face his dad right away.

So he dresses, quickly, and times the moment he exits his room to when he can hear Neil exiting the bathroom. Their eyes meet, and Billy looks away first. It’s a practiced move.

“Oh so you _are_ home?” Neil asks, his voice calm but hiding something dangerous, like a snake in the grass.

Billy takes a deep breath and straightens his spine. Closes the door to his room behind him and takes a couple of steps towards his dad.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it home in time last night. I was in an accident.”

Neil’s eyes roam over him. When he doesn’t spot any injuries, his eyes narrow.

“What kind of accident?”

“I hit an animal”, Billy says and licks his lips, forces his voice to stay neutral. “Swerved, ended up in a ditch. There was mud everywhere. Got stuck for hours, trying to get the car out.”

Neil looks at him again – no doubt cataloguing his appearance. Billy is suddenly very glad that he didn’t wash off last night when he got home; he is bound to still have mud on his hands, on his face, in his hair. And if Neil checks the car, he’s going to find her filthy.

“The car?” Neil finally says.

“Fine. A couple of scrapes, maybe. Nothing I can’t fix.”

Neil nods, once, and continues into the kitchen. Billy exhales quietly, knowing he has been dismissed, and heads for the bathroom.

He gives Max a ride to school, like every day, and as usual they don’t speak a word to each other during the drive. Normally, he’d just turn up the music to drown out the silence, but today he doesn’t care. He has other things on his mind, and she doesn’t seem to feel like talking either. Which is fine by him.

If she notices the sorry state of the Camaro (muddy, both on the inside and outside), she doesn’t let it show.

After dropping her off, Billy _should_ drive over to the parking lot outside the school. He should get out of his car, glance around at the general population and grin at the closest girls before making his way inside for yet another dull day in Hawkins, Indiana.

But he doesn’t. No school for him today – he’s got shit to do.

***

Billy goes to the library first, and checks out four different books on cats. The aged librarian gives him a suspicious look, but he smiles at her and says, “My little sister, you know? She’s crazy about cats, these days”, and shrugs in a helpless ‘what can you do’-gesture that melts the doubt off the woman’s face.

The second thing he does is call Dr Cook from the payphone by the gas station. Because if he’s going to do this, he’s going to need help.

Dr Cook congratulates him on finding the kittens, and questions him on the state of them and what Billy’s immediate plans are.

“I don’t know”, Billy admits, furrowing his brows. “I just want to keep them alive, for now.”

Dr Cook is silent for a moment, before he starts asking Billy questions about their size and development, to try to guess at their age and be able to give correct advice as to what he should feed them.

Armed with a lot of new knowledge, and determined to succeed, Billy drives back home. His father’s truck isn’t in the driveway, so he’s probably left for work already. Susan always leaves before him, so the house should be empty.

Billy gets a plastic bag and puts a bowl, several bottles of water and a couple of clean towels from Susan’s stash into it, before getting the kittens from his closet. They are still there, although one of them has managed to climb the edge of the box and is currently curled up next to one of his sneakers. He gently puts it back it the box and brings it, and the rest of the stuff, back out into the Camaro.

His last stop is the grocery store. They don’t have kitten formula, so he buys a couple of cans of cat food for younger cats, and then a Coke and a bag of chips for himself because he probably won’t get lunch.

He spends the rest of the day at the quarry, where he knows he won’t be disturbed before school’s out. Keeping in mind everything that Dr Cook told him, and leafing through the books he got, he guesses the kittens are somewhere between three and four weeks old. The one who escaped the box and was lying at his sneaker earlier is beige, and lighter than its two siblings. Billy awkwardly pries its mouth open with his little finger – he feels pinpricks of teeth on his skin, and can’t help smiling at the way the kitten turns its head and whines to get away.

“Okay okay, little man, you got it”, he mutters as he puts it down on the seat of the Camaro. It’s wobbly on its feet, but it takes a couple of steps before stumbling over nothing and plopping down on the leather.

Billy finds himself laughing, softly.

Turns out, that the beige ‘little man’ is actually a little lady. The other two are probably male, though, at least according to the one book that had illustrations.

He mixes cat food with water to make a paste – Dr Cook said that he should get milk replacer, but Billy has no idea where to get that in Hawkins without raising suspicion – and then spends the next hour trying to feed the kittens. They’re hungry, alright, but he only has a teaspoon that he stole from the kitchen, and they don’t seem to know what to do with that. He ends up putting the food on his fingers and alternating between letting the cats lick it off, and awkwardly nudging the paste into their mouths. It’s time-consuming and messy. The kittens look like they’ve rolled around in it when he’s done.

Two of them fall asleep after getting fed, and Billy cleans them up the best he can and puts them in a nest of towels (because it’s important to keep them warm) while the third one – the dark brown boy kitten with a white chest – seems to be content with letting Billy pet him. Billy, meanwhile, is reading through the books, and then having chips for lunch, and then attempts to feed the kittens again (it goes marginally better this time).

An hour before Neil usually gets back from work, Billy drives back home.

He knows he’s going to have to figure out something better than keeping the cats in a box in his closet, but it’s the only place he can think of where no one will find them, for now. He briefly considers the basement, but it would definitely raise suspicion if he snuck down there regularly – Dr Cook had said that the kittens would need to be fed several times a day, and preferably every two to four hours in the beginning, until he’d made sure they were doing okay. So they stay in the closet, for now. Billy figures that he’ll just have to keep Neil out of his room – he’ll have to make sure he’s on his best behavior from now on.

Being on his best behavior doesn’t do him any favors when Neil gets home, though. Apparently, the school called to let him know of Billy’s absence, so Neil’s eyes hones in on Billy as soon as he walks through the front door. Billy is in the kitchen, taking care of the dishes from this morning, but that does nothing to improve Neil’s mood. Neil isn’t interested in excuses – which is actually good, since Billy hasn’t thought of any – so Billy is pushed up against the refrigerator and gets a couple of slaps to the face before he can even turn the tap off.

“Skipping school, huh?” _Slap._ “That’s not a very responsible thing to do, is it?” _Slap._

“No, sir. I’m sorry.”

_Slap._

The slaps aren’t hard – they’re just warnings, and usually heralds what’s to come. Susan’s entrance saves him from anything worse, this time. She enters, and falters in the doorway with her arms around a bag of groceries, and Neil clears his throat and takes a step back. When he speaks, he speaks to Susan, as if Billy doesn’t exist.

“Billy will not be having dinner with us tonight. He’ll go and get Max at her friend’s house, and then he’ll go straight to his room and stay there for the rest of the evening.”

Billy nods his head, even though Neil isn’t looking at him.

“Yes, sir.”

His punishment is actually a blessing in disguise. Sure, he doesn’t get dinner, but this isn’t his first rodeo. He stops at the diner and gets a burger, which he wolfs down while driving one-handed to Max’s friend’s house, and also he’s got some granola bars stashed away between his T-shirts in the closet that he saves until he can hear the rest of the family settling down for their own dinner.

He checks on the kittens, after that, and figures he’s got at least twenty minutes to put some food into them. It’s still difficult with only a spoon, but he manages, at least to some degree.

Neil bursts into his room later that evening – without knocking – but Billy’s gotten good at predicting his unpredictable moves by now, so Neil only finds Billy lying on his back in bed, staring up into the ceiling. He’s not reading, he’s not listening to music – he’s not doing anything he knows he’s not supposed to do when he’s being punished.

“Dad”, he acknowledges with a respectful nod, and sits up in bed.

It seems to be enough for Neil, who gives a short nod. “Lights out in ten.”

Billy nods back, and Neil leaves. When he does, Billy breathes out a sigh of relief. His dad usually never comes back twice, unless he’s in a really bad mood, so he figures he’s safe for now.

He silently pulls the dresser in front of the door, pulls the bed out from the wall, and gets the box from his closet.

He falls asleep, much later, with his arm around three sleeping kittens.

***

He keeps it up for two more days. He doesn’t dare skip school again, so he keeps his window open when he leaves home in the morning and sacrifices his lunch breaks to drive home to feed the cats without anyone knowing. He gets up early, and goes to sleep late, and keeps the kittens in his closet.

He doesn’t put a toe out of line during these two days. He gets up in time, he thanks Susan for every meal, he helps with the dishes without having to be asked, he does everything his father tells him to do without so much as a sigh, and he doesn’t raise his voice at Max or Susan. In return, he is rewarded with relative peace. Neil glares at him and sneers an occasional comment, but there are no violent outbursts and no nightly check-ups.

But Billy’s heart is constantly in his throat, and he feels like he’s walking on egg shells. He knows that the peace can’t last – not under Neil’s roof – and he knows that Neil suspects something. Three days without so much as an eye-roll is very out of character for Billy, and Neil is going to catch on, if he hasn’t already. And when he does, Billy needs to have a contingency plan.

So far he’s struck out; his gentle prodding about cats has revealed that Tommy’s mom is apparently allergic and Carol’s family owns three dogs, so they’re both out. Sam’s family has two cats already, and Dr Cook said that Billy should be very careful if he was to introduce the kittens to unknown cats – which means that Sam’s out, too. Vic and Freddy on the team are two of the most irresponsible people Billy has ever met and he would rather face down Neil while wearing nothing but a tutu than leave the kittens in their care. And although there are a couple of other guys in school that he could, possibly, ask, he’s still hesitant to bring it up. For one thing, the topic of cats doesn’t come up in conversation a lot.

It all comes crashing down on Thursday night. Susan is doing laundry, Max has fucked off to wherever she goes when she’s allowed out on her own – Billy is scheduled to pick her up later – and Neil has situated himself in front of the TV with a beer in hand. Billy is taking the trash out – it’s raining again, so he hurries – and it’s not even a minute before he’s back inside the house.

And something feels off. He can’t say what, exactly – the TV is still on in the living room and the refrigerator is making its normal gurgling sounds – but during the short time he was outside, something has changed for the worse. It’s in the air, and he quickens his steps.

The couch in the living room is empty. No one’s in the kitchen.

He prepares for the worst when he opens the door to his room, he freezes in the doorway.

Neil is standing in the middle of the room, with his arms crossed, glaring at Billy as if he knew Billy was going to enter right now. Susan is crouching in front of the open closet, a pile of Billy’s washed and neatly folded laundry on the floor beside her. She has pulled the box out, and one of the kittens is halfway out of it already.

Susan looks up when Billy enters. Her eyes dart to Neil, and then she looks back at Billy and puts a hand over her mouth.

She probably knows how this is going to end, too.

“Billy”, Neil says. His voice is calm; too calm. “Explain.”

And the thing is, Billy _would_ explain if he thought it’d do any good. But Neil’s arms are crossed over his chest and his eyes are hard and Billy knows – he _knows_ – that no matter what he says, it won’t change the dark expression on Neil’s face.

“I’m sorry”, he says instead, lowering his head. The girl kitten is crawling out of the box, and Susan doesn’t even notice – she’s too busy looking between her husband and Billy.

“You should be. A pet is a big deal, _Billy_ –“ and the way Neil says his name makes him hunch his shoulders, “– and you know better than anyone that it should be a family decision.”

What he’s not saying is; _The last time your mother took this decision on her own, and look how that turned out. A dead cat and a weak, crying son._

The darkest kitten is trying to climb out of the box after his sister. He makes a little noise, which distracts Susan and Neil both. Susan’s eyes softens as she looks down at the cats. Neil’s eyes, predictably, does not soften at all.

Billy watches his father turn and take a step closer to the box on the floor. One step, that’s all, and suddenly Billy is assaulted by the memory of Missy’s body hitting the wall and his father’s cold fury – the look on his face so similar to the one that’s on his face now.

And he _knows_ , suddenly, that he can’t let it happen. Not again.

He’s moving before he’s had time to think it through. He shoulder-checks Neil out of the way; his father falls to the floor, and hits Billy’s mirror on the way down. There’s a crash, and an angry growl from his dad, and a horrified gasp from Susan, but Billy ignores it all. He grabs the box, scoops the kittens back into it, and makes a run for it. He’s throwing the front door open when he glances back and just has time to see Neil come out of his room. Neil is _pissed_.

Billy runs.

He doesn’t have his keys, so he forgoes the car entirely. Clutching the box to his chest, he tries to jostle it as little as possible while still running as fast as he can manage away from the house, from his dad, from the threat to his kittens.

He hears Neil yell after him, but he can’t make out the words. He doesn’t have to. He understands the gist of it.

He fucked up.

He fucked up _bad_.

He runs down two streets and crosses someone’s back yard to take shelter among the trees, and he’s halfway to lost in the woods before he feels safe enough to slow his steps. He’s breathing hard, and his heart is beating wildly in his chest. The rain is pouring down, soaking through his shirt and plastering his hair to his face, and the kittens are mewing pathetically, and they’re all wet, reminding him of the night when he found them.

He feels like hitting something.

He was supposed to keep them warm. He was supposed to keep them safe. Now he’s in the middle of the woods at night and can’t go home. He knows he has to go home eventually – and sooner rather than later, because the longer he stays out, the worse it’s going to get for him – but he _can’t_ take the kittens with him. He has no doubts about what will happen to them if he brings them back home.

So no. Taking them back is not an option.

But he also can’t leave them out here. They won’t make it out here alone; they need warmth, and shelter, and food, and –

There are lights filtering through between the trees. A house. Just about every light in the house seems to be on. He shakes the water out of his eyes and walks closer. It’s not until he’s almost at the edge of the property that he realizes that he recognizes this house.

He knows who lives here, and he is more likely to kick him to the curb than help him.

But _fuck_ , it’s not like he has a choice.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POV changes, babes.
> 
> Also, Steve's kind of an asshole in this chapter. It's understandable, though, considering their history.

Steve’s parents are due back home tomorrow. On the one hand, he knows that he should clean the house, because he’s been left on his own for a couple of days and cleaning up after himself has never been a priority when there’s no one home to see the mess he’s made – and they’re supposed to stay for the weekend this time, so maybe he should make an effort? On the other hand, why bother? They’ll leave come Monday anyway, so maybe he’ll just stay in the couch and keep watching TV. They probably won’t even notice that he hasn’t cleaned up. And even if they do, they’re probably used to him being a disappointment by now.

He’s just decided to sleep in the couch tonight when there’s a knock on the front door. He freezes. He’s not expecting anyone, and especially not at this time of night. The rain is pouring down outside, and it’s been dark for hours.

There’s another knock at the door. Steve hesitates for only a second before grabbing the poker from the fireplace and making his way out into the hallway.

He unlocks the door just as there is a third knock, and pulls it open to reveal the last person he would have expected to show up on his doorstep on a rainy Thursday night.

For a second, they stare at each other; Steve, holding the poker with the hand that’s hidden behind the door, and Billy Hargrove, with a box under one arm and his hand raised for another knock.

The moment feels like a lifetime. Then Steve shakes himself out of it and says, “No”, and slams the door in Hargrove’s face.

Because _fuck that guy_.

He hears muffled cursing from outside the door, and then the knocking continues. This time, it doesn’t stop, not until Steve grits his teeth and throws the door open again.

“What are you doing here?” he bites out, and behind the door, he’s gripping the poker hard. He imagines swinging it at the guy on his doorstep, and maybe it shows on his face, because Hargrove takes half a step back.

Then he seems to steel himself, and raises his chin and says, “I need a favor.”

Steve can’t help it; he laughs in his face, and it sounds as mean as it feels. Hargrove’s not laughing, though. Steve’s eyes narrow in disbelief.

“Are you kidding me? I’m not doing you any favors, Hargrove. Get the fuck off my property, or I’m calling the cops.”

He goes to shut the door again, when a softly spoken word makes him pause.

“Please.”

It’s low, and almost drowned out by the rain, but it is enough for Steve’s eyes to snap back to Hargrove’s face. The guy is soaked through, and pale, and he’s not wearing a jacket despite it being chilly. He looks like he just strolled out of a shower, clothes and all, and when Steve cranes his neck he can’t see a car. Did he _walk_ here? Has he been in some kind of accident? He doesn’t look hurt. That, for some reason, makes Steve even more annoyed. So just to be an ass, he says, “What was that? I didn’t hear you there.”

Hargrove bites his lip and won’t meet Steve’s eyes, but he speaks again, louder this time.

“Please, Harrington. I need a favor.”

And sue him, Steve’s curious now.

“What kind of favor?”

Hargrove is quick to hold out the box, and Steve has to fight to not flinch back. He peers inside as words start to spill out of Hargrove’s mouth, almost too fast for Steve to follow, as if he _knows_ that Steve is seconds away from slamming the door shut again.

“I found them a couple of nights ago, their mom died, and I need someone to look after them, just until tomorrow, I’ll take care of them after that, I just –“

There are three tiny drenched kittens in the box. Steve frowns. Hargrove quiets, takes a breath.

“I’ll pay you. Please. Just until tomorrow.”

Steve looks up again, and Hargrove actually looks distressed. Over _kittens_. It makes no sense at all, and does _not_ fit with the image of Hargrove that Steve has in his head. To stall for time, Steve asks, “Why can’t _you_ do it?”

Hargrove huffs out a breath of frustration. “I just can’t, okay? Not tonight.”

“Well why the fuck would you come _here_?” Steve wants to know, because _they are not friends_. He didn’t even know that Hargrove knew where he lived, and the knowledge that he _does_ is honestly making him a little uncomfortable. “Why not ask Tommy, or I don’t know – literally anyone else?!”

“Because you were the closest, alright? And I’ve got places to be!”

“Places to be?” Steve huffs and looks at the wet mess that is Hargrove. “What, you got a date or something, Hargrove? And didn’t think to bring an umbrella? Or your fucking _car_.”

Hargrove is visibly holding back whatever he wants to say right now, and it sends a thrill through Steve when the other boy takes a shuddering breath and says, slower, “Look, can you watch them or not?”

“No”, Steve says without thinking, because it’s _Hargrove_.

Hargrove’s face falls, and twists into a grimace. He glances over his shoulder, out into the darkness, before turning back to Steve.

“Man, I am literally begging you here!”

“Really?” Steve says, and he doesn’t know where it comes from, but he continues, “Because if you were _begging_ , you’d be on your knees.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it, and his body tenses in preparation for the punch that is sure to follow. But it doesn’t come. Instead, Hargrove stares at him, as if he can’t comprehend the words that just came out of Steve’s mouth.

“What.”

It’s not a question. Steve answers it anyway, because apparently he’s got a death wish.

“You heard me.” He says it slowly, and enjoys every syllable.

Because the thing is, Hargrove came to _him_. Asked him for a favor. This is _Steve’s_ house, _Steve’s_ property. Steve is warm and dry and _armed_ , and Hargrove is at his door and needs his help, which puts Hargrove at a disadvantage. And Steve may be a better person nowadays than he used to be, but he is not above using his advantage if it means exacting a little revenge on the guy who’s caused him so much grief. Steve still has a scar in his hairline from their fight at the Byers’, when Hargrove hit him over the head with that plate. So yeah, Steve’s going to enjoy this, thank you very much.

It’s not like Hargrove’s gonna do it, anyway.

The petty part of him is disappointed when he’s proven right. Hargrove’s eyes narrow, and he shakes his head to get rid of the water dripping from his hair before turning on his heel and walking back out into the rain. He’s hunching his upper body over the box as if to shield the kittens from the rain, but it doesn’t work and even from a couple of steps away, Steve can hear the protesting sounds from the box when they’re hit by raindrops once again. Billy stops, then, in the middle of a step.

Steve can only see his back, but he can see the way he tenses, as if he’s actually considering it. The thought stirs a strange sort of excitement in Steve, and he says, conversationally, to help things along, “Ask me again, and I’ll do it.”

Hargrove turns, eyes just a little more wide than usual. In hope or disbelief? Steve can’t tell. But he’s not finished yet.

“I’ll do it – _if_ you get on your knees and beg for it.”

He’s still gripping the poker behind the door, because honestly this could go either way. Hargrove has a history of resorting to violence for less than this. But to Steve’s astonishment, Hargrove actually walks the few steps back to the door and drops to his knees. He hits the concrete hard, and Steve winces, but Hargrove doesn’t even flinch. He’s still holding the box of kittens in one arm, and using the other to shield them somewhat, head down.

“Please”, he grits out between clenched teeth, and it looks like it _hurts_. “Please, Harrington, will you do me this favor. Please, Harrington, will you let them stay here until tomorrow.” He’s breathing hard through his nose and hasn’t looked at Steve once, but now he looks up, and he is angry, and desperate, and Steve sort of wants to step back from the intensity of his gaze. “Please, _Steve_ , will you just take them for the night so that they don’t fucking _die_!?”

He holds out the box and Steve can’t help but look down at the kittens in it. They are wet, and so small. Steve thinks _pathetic_ , and then he glances at Billy – soaked through and on his knees on Steve’s doorstep – and thinks the same thing.

And alright, he kind of feels like an asshole, now. In fact, he’s a little dumbfounded – he never in his wildest imagination thought that Billy was actually going to _do it_ – so it takes him a while to think of what to say.

Apparently, Hargrove takes his silence to mean _no_. His face darkens, and he gets to his feet and has his back to Steve before Steve can react.

“Never mind”, he mutters. “Fuck you.”

He’s halfway down the drive before Steve calls out to him.

“Wait!”

Hargrove glares at him over his shoulder, but doesn’t stop walking.

“For fuck’s sake …” Steve waves him over. “Give ‘em here. I’ll take them.”

Hargrove looks down into the box, and then out to the darkened street. He takes a full five seconds before he turns again and slowly walks up to the house. He somehow looks murderous and hesitant all at once, and Steve leans the poker against the wall in the hall so can snatch the box out of Hargrove’s hands. The cardboard is wet, and feels soggy. He wonders, idly, how long it would have held up in the rain.

“Just until tomorrow”, Hargrove mutters, and clenches his teeth.

“Sure. Whatever.”

Steve makes no move to invite Hargrove in, because he’s not an idiot, but he also doesn’t close the door in his face again, even though a part of him really wants to.

“Get them dry, will you? They need to be kept warm. Maybe make a nest of towels, or …” He glances up at Steve’s face, and quickly looks away again. “Or whatever.”

This is so strange. Billy Hargrove is telling him how to take care of a couple of kittens that he found. Steve must be dreaming. He must have fallen asleep in front of the TV, and now he’s having the strangest dream.

“What do they eat?” he asks, because it seems like the kind of thing dream-him would ask, and Hargrove frowns.

“I’ve been feeding them ordinary cat food, mixed with water.”

“I don’t have any cat food.” And _wow_. They’re really having this conversation, aren’t they?

Hargrove surprises him again, by actually looking troubled at this – as if it’s a _problem_ that Steve doesn’t have any cat food at home, when he doesn’t even own cats. Steve bristles at this – the _nerve_ of this guy, honestly – but Hargrove speaks before he can.

“I’ll bring some over.”

Does he mean tonight? Didn’t he say he had places to be? And if not tonight, then when? Tomorrow? How long can kittens go without food?

Steve says none of this out loud. He just nods. Hargrove does the same.

“I’ll come for them tomorrow”, he says, and then he walks off, back out into the rain. Steve is left standing in his doorway with a soggy box of half-drenched kittens, not entirely sure how he ended up here.

When Hargrove is gone, he walks inside, closes the door and locks it behind him. Half an hour later, when he’s set the kittens up in a pile of towels in the laundry room (where it’s warm, and they can’t get out), there’s another knock at the door. When Steve opens, there is no one there. There are two banged-up cans of cat food on the concrete, though, and a damp note scribbled on the back of a receipt which says _Every four hours_.

Steve swears, and glares out into the darkness. So much for getting a good night’s sleep.

***

When Billy gets home, he intends to go inside straight away and take his punishment like a man, but the thing is – he really _really_ doesn’t want to. He can see that the lights are on in his room, and knows that Neil’s probably waiting for him there, if not in the living room. He licks his lips, shuffles his feet, and wishes for a cigarette.

Standing there, trying to work up the courage to go inside, he spots something different. There is a black trash bag by the garbage can that wasn’t there when he took the trash out earlier. Hesitantly, he walks over to it. It’s big and lumpy, and he bites his lip, because he can guess what’s inside.

Tearing the bag open, he can feel his eyes start to burn. Inside are his things; his books, his tapes, his records, his hair products and cologne, and even some of his clothes. Everything is ripped or torn or broken, and Billy really should have expected this to happen. He rifles through his belongings, to try to save what he can – he rescues a sweater that reeks of his cologne, two tapes where only the cases broke, and a couple of books – they can still be read, even if they’re a bit banged up, and the plastic bag saved them from the rain. In the bottom of the bag, he finds some of his jewelry and the cat food cans.

He glances up at house. At the light in the window.

Fuck it.

What’s another half hour going to do? He’s fucked either way. So he grabs what’s salvageable and wraps it up in the sweater, and hides it in the carport in an old bucket in a corner, to be moved to a safer place later. Then he takes the cans of cat food and returns to Harrington’s place.

He doesn’t want to have to face Harrington again – he doesn’t think he can handle it, between humiliating himself in front of him just now and the beating he is sure to get when he gets home – so he leaves the cans outside, knocks on the door, and books it.

His little detour takes enough time that when he gets back home, the lights are out in both Max’s room and the living room. There’s still a light coming out of his window, though, so he knows what to expect when he silently enters the house through the back door and toes off his shoes.

He’s dripping rain water all over the floor, but that’s the last thing on his mind as he makes his way to his room. He worries his bottom lip before he works up the courage to open the door.

And Neil is waiting for him, like he knew he would be.

***

It’s a relatively bad one.

When it’s over – when Neil has walked out of the room and left Billy curled up on the floor – Billy finally lets the tears fall. He knows better than to make a sound, though, since he’s not really up for a repeat performance right now.

Billy really only cried out when he got an unexpected elbow to the face, a couple of minutes ago, and that was followed by his father grabbing his hair and smashing his face to the floor and hissing at him to keep it down as to not wake up Susan and Max. With his bruised cheek to the floor and a knee in his back, he found it wisest to try to keep quiet after that. He might not have been entirely successful, but if either Susan or Max heard anything, they didn’t come to investigate anyway, and that was good enough for Neil, who kept telling him – and showing him – exactly how badly he’d fucked up this time around.

Now, Billy’s on the floor of his room, and he knows he should try to get up, but everything hurts and while his bed is only five feet away, it might as well be a mile. He can sleep on the floor. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Eventually, though, he gets his hands under him and from there manages to raise himself onto his hands and knees. He crawls, more than walks, over to his bed and hoists himself up without even thinking about removing his wet clothes.

He pulls on a blanket, and manages to get it to cover a part of him. It’s enough. It will have to be enough.

He falls asleep – or passes out – shortly thereafter.


	4. Chapter 4

Hargrove isn’t in school.

Normally, Steve wouldn’t care – and if he did, he’d be grateful for it – but today, it irks him. Because Hargrove’s not in school, but _Steve_ is, after spending a night barely sleeping, feeling suddenly responsible for three little baby cats.

Three little baby cats, who didn’t stay put in their nest of towels. Three little baby cats who made tiny noises all through the night, and who wouldn’t eat from a bowl, and who left messes all over the floor in the laundry room. Steve doesn’t have a litter box, and honestly it was kind of rude of Hargrove not to think about that before he left them in Steve’s care!

So yeah, maybe Steve is a little cranky. He’d been up half the night, trying to get some food into them, and had eventually just given up on going to bed. Instead, he’d fallen asleep on the floor of the laundry room, in the pile of towels the cats didn’t use.

One of the kittens had peed on him. It had been one hell of a morning.

So he’d worked himself up on the way to school, ready to give Hargrove a piece of his mind – or at the very least glare at him across the hallway – but then he doesn’t even show up. And frankly, Steve is getting a little pissed off. (Of course, that might just be the lack of sleep.)

He skips last period in favor of going home, hoping that the other boy will be there, waiting to take the kittens off his hands. But the house is as empty as always when he lets himself in, and no one is waiting outside the door. He checks up on the cats – who’s made even more of a mess for him to clean up, _great_ – and then does the only thing he can do in a situation like this.

He calls Dustin’s house.

“Henderson house, this is Claudia speaking.”

“Oh, Mrs Henderson, hello, this is Steve. Steve Harrington?”

“Hello Steve! How are you? I’m sorry, Dusty’s not in right now. He’s spending time with his friends this afternoon, I think they’re at Mike’s?”

“I know, umm.” Steve reaches up to run a hand through his hair. “I was actually hoping I could ask you something, Mrs Henderson.”

“Don’t give me that, Steve. You call me Claudia. What was it that you wanted to ask?”

“Well.” Steve bites his lip and glances at the clock on the wall. “Do you know anything about kittens?”

***

An hour later, Steve is driving home from Dustin’s house – without having actually met with Dustin – in possession of an old litter box, a bottle, a package of kitty formula that Mrs Hender- _Claudia_ had enthusiastically went out and got especially for him right after they hung up, and a whole bunch of knowledge on kittens.

He isn’t sure how he got so invested in all of this, but when he gets home he prepares the formula and walks into the laundry room with newfound determination.

When he hears the front door slam open twenty minutes later, he thinks for a second that it’s Hargrove, and feels a stab of irritation at how he apparently even lacks the decency to knock – but then he hears the familiar drawl of his mother’s voice, and he closes his eyes.

_Shit_.

“Steve, darling? Are you here?”

“Yeah mom”, Steve says and exits the laundry room, closes the door behind him. “I’m here.”

He walks out into the hallway, where his parents are setting down their bags, taking off their coats. His mother turns and smiles at him, and Steve smiles back.

“Welcome home.”

***

Steve’s mom is not much for cooking – or, rather, she’s not much for _everyday cooking_. For parties and dinners, she’ll spend days in the kitchen, making sure everything is perfect for the guests, but when it’s just the three of them? She much prefers to order in.

Which is what they’re doing tonight, too.

Half an hour after his parents’ return finds them all in the dining room, and Steve is politely paying attention to his mother’s retelling of something that happened during their time in the bit city, when there is a knock on the door.

Steve just _knows_ it’s Hargrove. Talk about bad timing.

“Excuse me”, Steve says, with a smile on his face, and puts his fork down before standing up and walking out into the hallway.

He opens the door, already drawing breath to tell Hargrove to come back later so that he won’t have to explain to his parents why he’s got kittens stashed away in the house, but the air escapes him when he swings the door open and gets a good look at the guy.

“What the hell happened to you?” Steve blurts out, and it’s not what he was planning on saying at all, but Hargrove looks a mess. His left eye is purple and shiny and almost swollen shut, and there’s a small cut under his eye and an ugly discoloration on his jaw.

Despite looking like roadkill, he leans his head back and glares at Steve with his one good eye.

“Why the hell do you care?”

And Steve doesn’t, not really. “I don’t.” Hargrove changes position and winces as if it hurts, and Steve feels like an asshole for some reason. “Whatever. Come on.”

He steps aside and lets Billy inside, despite how uncomfortable it makes him feel – because he can’t really tell the guy to fuck off now, can he? – and hurriedly pushes him down the hallway and into the house.

“Steve, honey?”

His mother’s voice drifts in from the dining room, and Steve screws his eyes shut.

“Yes?”

“Who’s that at the door?”

Steve glares at Billy, who’s stopped, and who looks about as uneasy as Steve feels.

“Just a friend from school, mom. We’re working on a project.”

He winces as he says it, and Hargrove gives him a look that borders on disgust, but Steve takes the opportunity to nudge him into motion again.

“Does he want dinner?”

“He’s not hungry!” Steve says, maybe too loud. “Hang on, mom, I’ll be right back!”

He all but pushes Hargrove into the laundry room and hisses, “My parents just got back, they don’t know about the cats. Stay in here and keep quiet, I just have to finish dinner.” And then he shuts the door on a surprised-looking Billy Hargrove just as he opens his mouth to – no doubt – protest, which is honestly a very satisfying feeling.

The rest of dinner passes quickly, but feels like a lifetime. Steve fends off the few questions from his mother (“We’re just gonna do some planning tonight, it won’t take long”), and then makes small talk with his father, until they’re done and he can leave without raising suspicion. He’s fidgety the whole time; he keeps thinking that he left _Billy_ _Hargrove_ , of all people, alone _in his house_. He’s thinking that he can’t see the laundry room from here so technically Hargrove could have snuck out and caused whatever trouble Billy Hargrove likes to cause when he’s left alone in an enemy’s house. He’s thinking that he should have locked the door to the laundry room.

But that’s insane. First, that door doesn’t even lock. Second, Hargrove would probably break out of it easily anyway.

Fully prepared to find an empty room, and to have to arm himself with his bat to chase Billy down in his own home, Steve throws open the door to the laundry room with a little too much force –

– and freezes. His brain freezes too, from the impossibility of it all.

Because finding a soaked Billy on his doorstep yesterday, with a box of kittens, that was unexpected, to say the least. Finding a beat-up Billy there, today, was also something Steve hadn’t been prepared for. But this? This takes the cake.

Billy’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, a towel spread out over his legs, with a kitten in his lap. He’s holding the bottle that Steve discarded on the bench when his parents interrupted him, and he’s gently cradling the little cat with one of his hands, while feeding it with the other. The other two kittens are curled up next to him. And even though Billy tensed up and turned his head when Steve opened the door, putting his swollen eye on display, Steve can’t help but think that the scene is strangely domestic.

Almost _soft_.

And he absolutely _hates_ how he’s thinking those words in relation with Billy Hargrove. The guy beat him unconscious. He went after the kids. He treats everyone like trash and is possibly the worst person to ever exist.

Yet, here he is, holding a fucking kitten with gentle fucking hands, and Steve can’t deal with it.

Possibly, his inability to process what he’s seeing is visible on his face, because Billy pulls his shoulders up and makes a face. Frowns.

“What?” Defensive.

Steve shakes his head. Wonders if Billy’s aware he’s twisted his body so he’s shielding the kitten from view. “Nothing. What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” The ‘ _idiot’_ is implied with a Look, as Billy gestures with the bottle.

“Looks like you’re taking liberties in my house”, Steve says, and Billy’s whole face darkens.

He gets up, painstakingly, and Steve would bet anything that the rest of Billy is matching his face right now, because even though Billy’s trying hard to pretend like nothing’s wrong, Steve _has_ been beaten up before. By Billy, even. He knows the signs.

Before he can speak, and say something utterly stupid like ‘are you okay?’, Billy sets the bottle down on the washing machine, and looks around the room like he’s searching for something.

“I’ll be out of your hair, then. Where’s the box?”

“Man, that box was falling to pieces”, Steve says. “I threw it away.”

Undeterred, Billy scoops the kittens up in the towel, and takes them all into his arms. He straightens up, slowly, and stands in front of Steve. From the look on his face, Steve can only assume that Hargrove wants to beat him to the ground, but as he’s got his arms full of kittens, Steve’s not worried. But then, surprisingly, Billy averts his eyes.

“I don’t have any money now. I’ll pay you next week.”

Steve opens his mouth. “What.”

“I said I’ll pay you. I’m not a fucking liar. I _will_ , just … not now.”

“It’s fine”, Steve says, because he can’t think of anything else to say.

Billy moves to go around him, and Steve finds himself holding out an arm, stopping him in his path as something occurs to him. “Will you be able to take care of them now?” He’s looking at the kittens. They’re so _small_.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Steve looks up, frowning. “Seriously, Hargrove, have you found a safe place for them?”

“I’ll figure something out”, Billy grits out, and that means _no_.

Steve hates himself. He can’t believe he’s even considering this. But.

“Look, if you can’t take care of them you might as well leave them here.”

Billy’s eyes widen, and Steve hurries to add, “Just for a couple of days. Until you _do_ figure something out.”

And he can tell that Billy really wants to sneer at him. Wants to push past him and tell him to go to hell and maybe throw a punch for good measure. But the thing is, he _doesn’t_. And that tells Steve that Billy really doesn’t have any options.

It also makes him wonder why Billy’s own home is not an option. And that thought leads to some really disturbing theories, which Steve is quick to push down.

Billy glances from the cats in his arms to the corner of the room, where Claudia’s litter box is sitting. “Yeah. Okay.” He’s not looking at Steve.

***

It’s surprising, to say the least, how relieved Billy feels when Harrington offers to let the kittens stay for a while longer. Billy had, after an absolutely miserable day spent at home, only come up with a half-assed plan of driving back to Dr Cook’s clinic and dump the kittens there. Two things stopped him; first, his head hurt like a bitch and he didn’t want to risk ending up in another accident, and second? Neil had the keys to the Camaro. Which was unfortunate, since the Camaro was also where Billy had stashed his spare cash since that first day when he skipped school and had to go shopping.

Neil will probably give him back the keys after the weekend, though – if only so that he or Susan won’t have to be the ones to drive Max to and from school – but for now, Billy has no access to either his car or his money, which makes him feel slightly off-kilter.

The car has always felt like a safer place than the house, especially since moving to Hawkins, and it bothers him more than he wants to admit that he can’t simply get in and drive. However, one thing he is very grateful for is that after emptying his box of letters and photos to use for the kittens, he’d wrapped them in a T-shirt and put in the trunk of the Camaro the next day, intending to find a better place for them. He’d then promptly forgotten about it, which at least meant that Neil hadn’t found them when he’d trashed Billy’s things a couple of days later.

Billy only hopes that his dad doesn’t think to look through his car before giving the keys back.

Either way, Neil taking the keys leaves Billy with no cash to pay Harrington with, and no car to get to Harrington’s place with. After the beating, it had taken him a while to muster up enough energy to even get out of bed, and when he finally had, he was already late for school. Neil hadn’t bothered him about it though, so Billy figured he’d be excused if he skipped school today. Neil had always been more forgiving about skipping when Billy had visible marks on him, and that elbow to the face had resulted in a truly impressive shiner.

Susan and Max came back, and Neil drove up to the house ten minutes later, but Billy stayed in his room, with his door closed, like he always did after these kind of events. After dinner (which he didn’t attend) Neil had entered his room and not said a word to him. Just pointedly looked around the room, and then at Billy, until Billy averted his eyes – at which point Neil had nodded and walked out, closing the door behind him. Satisfied, for now.

Billy waited twenty minutes just to be safe, until the TV was on in the living room and the sound of low music was coming from Max’s room, before he snuck out through the window.

The walk to Harrington’s house hadn’t exactly been comfortable, what with his aching body, but he’d made it eventually. Just in time to interrupt a late dinner, apparently, which seemed to annoy Harrington just as much as it annoyed Billy.

He’d been basically pushed into a laundry room, of all places, and then left alone, and he’d been surprised to find that Harrington had managed to scrounge up a bottle of what appeared to be formula in in. There was even a litter box on the floor.

Harrington, apparently, didn’t lack funds. The thought made Billy grimace in annoyance.

Now, though, he’s grateful for it. Harrington and he may never see eye to eye on most things, but he’s offering to keep the kittens here for a while, and thus saving Billy from a lot of trouble.

It bothers him that he can’t pay for it right now. He doesn’t want to owe Harrington anything, and with the litter box and the bottle and the way he offered to let them stay, Billy is already too deep in debt. It makes his skin itch, and he can feel his fingers flexing, wanting to make themselves into fists and hit something.

But he doesn’t. He tells himself he can pay Harrington back later, when he’s got the keys to the Camaro back. He’ll pay him back then, and find a better place for the kittens, and not owe Harrington anything anymore.

For now, though, he’ll have to swallow his pride. It burns, but it’s far from kneeling in the rain and begging (and he tries hard not to think about that, because he’s _trying_ not to punch anything), so he licks his lips and clenches his teeth and agrees.

Puts himself in debt.

***

The next day is a Saturday. Neil still has his keys, and seems to consider it punishment enough for now (to which Billy silently agrees) so he only grunts when Billy asks, after breakfast, if he can go out.

He finds himself at Harrington’s door before ten, and has knocked before he’s thought it through properly. He’s not quite sure why he’s here, but the cats are his responsibility and if it’s one thing he’s learned in this life, it’s to take responsibility. Besides, having to endure Harrington’s loathing beats staying in the house with his so-called family for a whole weekend.

It’s not Harrington who opens, though, but a woman who must be his mother. And _mothers_ , Billy can deal with.

“Hello, Mrs Harrington? My name is Billy Hargrove, I’m a friend of Steve’s.” He smiles through this lie as he belatedly realizes that Steve must have told her who beat him up, less than a year ago. Just as he’s preparing to backtrack, the woman’s face lights up and she smiles at him.

“Ah, were you the one who was here yesterday? I’m sorry we were never properly introduced. What on earth happened to your face?”

Billy smiles, spins a story about a fight between friends getting out of hand and puts just enough sheepishness into his voice and demeanor to have the woman tut at him in a ‘boys will be boys’ kinda way and gently pull him into the house.

“Are you working on your project today, as well? What is it about?”

“Oh, um, chemistry”, Billy blurts out, and hides a wince, because he and Steve doesn’t even have chemistry together – he’s not even sure if Steve has chemistry, period. “Yeah, it’s basically a bunch of experiments and stuff, it’s …” She looks at him as he trails off, as if she’s actually interested.

“It’s really interesting”, he says, and plasters on a smile that makes his bad eye throb. “Is Steve in?”

“Oh”, the woman says, “Yes, but I’m not sure if he’s up yet. He should be, though. You know where his room is, right? Feel free to wake him up.” She leads him to the bottom of the stairs before turning and smiling at him over her shoulder. “And tell him that he shouldn’t waste his days like this, it’s a beautiful spring morning. Carpe Diem, and all!”

And then she’s whirled out of the hallway, and Billy finds himself alone, and floundering. He regrets coming in the first place, but takes a deep breath and climbs the stairs, wincing as he goes when it makes one of his knees twinge painfully.

He absolutely does _not_ know where Harrington’s room is, but he steels himself when he gets to the second floor and tries a couple of doors. The first one is a closet, the second one is an office. The third one has atrocious checkered wallpaper and matching curtains and honestly makes Billy feel as if he’s in a cage, and naturally that turns out to be Harrington’s room.

Also, with Billy’s luck, of course that’s when Harrington – who’s in the bed, wrapped up in an equally appalling checkered comforter – decides to wake up. He scrunches his nose up and blinks a couple of times, and stretches one hand over his head, knocking it against the headboard.

Billy can _see_ the moment when Harrington realizes that seeing Billy in his room first thing in the morning is actually happening, and not a nightmare. He would laugh at the expression on his face, if he wasn’t feeling so awkward.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Harrington rasps out and sits up in bed. His hair is standing up in every direction and there are lines on his chest from sleeping on wrinkled fabric.

Billy licks his lips. “Your mom said to wake you up.”

Harrington squints at him as if he’s still hoping Billy’s presence is a bad dream, and clarifies; “Not my room. I mean what are you doing _here_?”

“Came to feed the cats”, Billy grounds out, and it sounds so much worse coming out of his mouth than it did in his head.

He just doesn’t want to _owe_ Harrington anything, and the cats are _his to take care of_ even if Harrington offered to let them stay here, but he can’t say this out loud because doing so would be to expose his weaknesses – laying himself bare in front of the enemy – and he _won’t do that_.

So he crosses his arms over his chest, scowls at Harrington, and wishes that the ground would just open up and swallow him whole.

“Well I’ve fed them three times already since last night, once which was –“ Harrington grabs his watch from the nightstand and groans. “– three hours ago. I’ve slept like _shit_ thanks to you, but I’ve _done_ it, alright, so you can just fuck right off and let me go back to sleep.”

Three hours is a long time for growing cats. Dr Cook said to feed them every few hours in the beginning. Billy straightens up, and says, “I can’t leave yet. Told your mom we were working on the project together.”

Harrington makes a face before throwing himself back on his pillow in a truly dramatic fashion and putting an arm over his eyes for a second. Then he rolls out of bed, his back to Billy, while muttering something that sounds suspiciously like “Creep”. Billy bites his lip to stop himself from engaging – he has a couple of things he can say about Harrington and creepiness, considering the dude apparently spends his time hanging around a bunch of kids several years younger than him, and in creepy houses in the woods, nonetheless – because while this whole thing doesn’t sit right with him, Harrington has the means to keep the kittens safe for now, and Billy needs that.

So with tremendous effort, he pretends he didn’t hear.

Harrington reaches down and grabs a shirt off the floor and pulls it over his head, and then stands up and glares at Billy. Besides the T-shirt, he’s only in his underwear, and Billy blinks and feels uncomfortable, so he glares right back, resolutely not looking anywhere but Harrington’s face.

“Well”, Harrington says and gestures sarcastically to a door – not the one Billy came in through. “After you.”

Billy’s eyes narrow, but he says nothing as he saunters across the room and opens the door to find a bathroom – because _of course_ Harrington’s got an en suite bathroom, Billy should have expected nothing less – where all three kittens are currently moving around on unsteady legs. The litter box is standing in a corner, but Billy can see that they’ve made a mess both on the floor and in the nest of towels that Harrington has made for them under the sink.

Harrington apparently sees it too, and sighs dramatically behind Billy. Billy finds himself gritting his teeth in annoyance.

“I’ll take care of it”, he says. “Where’s the food?”

There’s a beat of silence that grates on Billy’s nerves, but then Harrington says, simply, “I’ll mix some formula up.”

***

Harrington takes the bottle from the sink and leaves, and Billy cleans up. He’s glad that Harrington isn’t there to see him do it – not that there’s any shame in what he’s doing, but rather because he doesn’t want Harrington to hang over his shoulder. He’s uncomfortable enough already – being on someone else’s turf and depending on the goodwill of others has never sat quite right with him.

It proves to be just as awkward as Billy had expected when Harrington returns with the bottle of lukewarm formula. None of them say anything, or even look at each other. And Harrington still hasn’t put on pants.

“Gimme that”, Billy growls and snatches the bottle out of Harrington’s hand. Harrington opens his mouth to say something, but there’s a call from downstairs and he hesitates.

Billy ignores all his instincts by turning his back on Harrington, sitting down cross-legged on the floor and picking up the closest kitten (the darkest one), effectively ignoring his host. He’s all too aware of Harrington watching him from the doorway, until he hears a sigh and the sound of the door closing. Then, he lets out a breath and feels himself relaxing a fraction.

Feeding the kittens is a surprisingly soothing activity. Once they’ve clued in on the fact that there’s food to be had, the other two comes over to him, too, and he finds himself smiling as he lifts them all up in his lap.

“Hey now, girlie”, he says to the beige one when she’s accidentally trampling one of her brothers, “don’t do that, hang on, you’ll get your turn.” She throws her head to the side and loses her balance and falls onto his jean-clad leg, and he huffs out a laugh that makes his chest twinge.

It’s only natural that he moves on to her, after her brother has had his fill and been lifted onto a folded up towel to get some rest – and Billy finds himself smiling again when the dark little boy cat folds up and closes his eyes almost immediately after being set down.

“Okay, princess, your turn”, he coos as he strokes a finger over her head. “No need to worry, you little diva. You’ll all get fed, I promise.” He directs his last comment to the third kitten, who’s curled up next to his sister and seems to be patiently waiting his turn. “I wouldn’t let you starve.”

He is so immersed in his task that he forgets about Harrington. He doesn’t give a thought to where the other boy fucked off to, and maybe that is his mistake. Because the doors in this house apparently don’t creak when they open, and suddenly he’s just aware of someone’s eyes on him, and it’s like a spike of dread through his spine – he’d jump if he didn’t have the kittens in his lap.

He can’t stop the flinch, though, when he turns his head and finds Harrington standing there, watching him with an unreadable expression on his face. It reminds him of yesterday, when Harrington barged into the laundry room, but this time he gets the feeling that Harrington’s been watching him for some time. It’s unnerving, and he finds himself scowling out of habit.

Before he can say something scathing, Harrington (who has finally put on a pair of sweatpants), motions over his shoulder with his thumb.

“Mom wants to know if you want breakfast.” He looks like it pains him to say it. “Or, brunch, rather, considering it’s almost eleven.”

Harrington looks like he’d rather chew off his own arm than have Billy sit down at a table with him and pretend that they’re friends for twenty minutes, which is exactly why Billy’s actually considering accepting. But.

“Nah”, he says, and pretends he’s not offended by the relief on Harrington’s face. “I had breakfast already.” Or, what counts as breakfast in the Hargrove household, anyway. “And, you know …” He motions to the cats in his lap, indicating that he’s kinda busy, here.

Harrington seems to be relaxing a little, and nods.

“Yeah”, he says. “Okay.”

And then he _doesn’t leave_. Billy frowns. Sure, this is Harrington’s house and Harrington’s bathroom and Harrington’s bottle and everything, but the kittens are _Billy’s_ , so why is Harrington just standing there? Does he want to make sure Billy’s actually doing what he’s supposed to be doing? Does he simply not trust Billy enough to let him out of his sight? Why is he just _looking at him_ like that? Billy finds himself pulling his shoulders up and he feels _found out_ for some reason, even though he’s not doing anything wrong –

“So what are you gonna call them?” Harrington asks and leans against the doorframe, and Billy blinks because he didn’t expect that. He opens his mouth, but no words come out.

Harrington isn’t deterred by his lack of answer, though, and continues, “I think I should get to name at least one of them, since …” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but Billy hears it anyway. _Since I let them stay. Since I did you a favor. Since you_ owe _me._

Looking down at the kittens in order to avoid having to look at Harrington, he points at the darkest kitten, who’s currently sleeping on the towel next to him.

“That’s Spartacus”, he says, and realizes he has already decided on the names.

“Spartacus?” Harrington says with disgust in his voice, and Billy doesn’t have to look at him to know that he’s making a matching face. “What kind of a name is _Spartacus_?”

“A _classic_ name”, Billy grinds out. “Don’t you know your Roman history?”

Harrington doesn’t answer, instead he crouches down and points at the dark brown kitten with the white chest, who’s in Billy’s lap.

“Fine. Whatever. Then that one should be called Jeff. He looks like a Jeff.”

And Billy can’t help it – he barks out a laugh. “Jeff!? What kind of a name is _Jeff_ for a cat?! You might as well call him …” He pauses, trying to think of the most trivial name there is. “… _Bob_!” Because Harrington obviously has never had a pet in his whole life, if he thinks human names are fitting for cats.

Harrington’s face does something strange, and then he looks smug. “You know what, you’re absolutely right. Bob fits him _much better_.” He leans in and scratches behind the kitten’s ear with one finger while Billy watches, speechless. “Hello, Bob.”

“You’re fucking insane”, Billy can’t help but comment.

“Whatever, that’s still Bob”, Harrington says, and grins like a cat who got all the cream. “Now this one –“

He points at the girl kitten that Billy’s currently feeding, and Billy shakes his head, feels his face close up and his eyes go hard. “No.”

“No? What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“She’s got a name already.” He clenches his teeth and concentrates on holding the bottle steady.

“Oh yeah? What is it, then?”

He doesn’t look anywhere but at the bottle when he answers.

“Missy.”


	5. Chapter 5

He leaves ten minutes later, after all the kittens have been fed. Harrington walks him out. The smell of bacon is drifting in from what must be the kitchen, and Billy almost wishes he’d said yes to brunch. Still, he smiles and nods at Harrington’s mother when he passes her in the hallway, and then stops right outside the door. Scratches the back of his neck.

“I’ll be back later”, he says, and doesn’t know why.

If Harrington really wanted to, he could tell Billy to fuck off, but he only sighs and mutters “Whatever”, and that’s as good as an invitation in Billy’s eyes.

He has to bite his tongue so he won’t say anything stupid like _‘Take good care of them while I’m gone’_ , or _‘Feed them in a couple of hours, don’t let them go hungry’_ , because honestly Harrington said he’d already fed them three times during the night and that should be enough for Billy to trust him with their care for a couple of hours, but.

It’s not that he’s _worried_ , really, it’s just. He’s responsible for them, and a part of him hates leaving them in someone else’s care.

In the end, what he says is “Okay, see you later”, before turning and walking back home.

***

He returns that night, after dinner, and then again twice on Sunday. Harrington rolls his eyes at him, but doesn’t comment, and they develop a routine where Harrington shows Billy up to his room and leaves him alone in the bathroom to feed the cats in peace. Billy makes sure he’s turned towards the door so that he can see if it opens, and after a while Harrington will come in and glare at him, and maybe they’ll exchange a few sentences.

Late on Sunday afternoon, when Billy painstakingly gets up from the floor to leave, Harrington still hasn’t entered the bathroom, so Billy picks up Bob and brings him out into Harrington’s room. He finds the other boy slumped over his desk with a hand in his hair, bent over a couple of books and chewing on a pencil.

“Seems like a nutritious meal”, Billy comments, and Harrington startles. He probably didn’t even hear him come out.

Harrington sighs and stretches and Billy can hear something pop in his back, making him wince.

“Yeah, well”, Harrington says. “I’m not a very good cook.”

Billy’s not entirely sure if that was a joke, and if it was, if he is supposed to react to it. Before he can figure it out, Harrington throws his pencil to the desk and slams his book shut.

“Well, I’m gonna g–“ Billy starts, at the same time as Steve speaks.

“You want dinner or something?”

Billy freezes, still holding Bob to his chest. “What.”

“I’m hungry. I’m getting some food. Do you want some or not?”

“I–“

“You know, mom is starting to wonder about our project”, Harrington says and sends him a glare, and that, at least, is familiar territory. “And why you never stay for more than half an hour at the time. I had to tell her you’re babysitting Max over the weekend. But you might as well stay for a while, now. Throw her off, or whatever.”

Billy thinks about what he’s seen of Harrington’s fancy dining room when he glanced in there yesterday to greet Mr and Mrs Harrington, and swallows. He’s dressed in a ratty T-shirt and the jeans he wears when he’s working on his car – he spends most of his time here on the floor of Harrington’s bathroom, after all, which doesn’t exactly require his best clothes – and while the swelling of his eye has gone down somewhat, the bruising has deepened and he knows that he looks bad. He tries to imagine himself seated at a table, with Harrington and his parents. They probably use, like, four different kinds of forks for every meal.

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

Harrington looks like he’s not getting it, so Billy gestures down at himself with raised eyebrows, which only prompts Harrington to scoff at him.

“We can eat here. My mom won’t mind.” He shrugs. “Or do you have anything better to do?”

He says it as if he knows that Billy doesn’t have anything better to do on a Sunday night. The thing is, though, that Billy _does_ have to get home. Sunday night is Family Dinner at seven, and that is not negotiable. Billy knows this. But also, it’s more than an hour until he has to be there. And honestly, if Harrington is offering him another hour out of the house, he’ll take it – even if it’s Harrington.

“Okay, fine”, he says, and Harrington nods and walks out. Closes the door after him, and leaves Billy alone in his room.

It’s not like before, when Billy’s been left alone. Then, he’s been in the bathroom. Now, he’s in Harrington’s room. He _could_ take the opportunity to snoop around in the guy’s stuff, but he already feels like the odd one out, here. Feels as if he touches anything in here, he’ll taint it, somehow. So he stays where he is, awkwardly holding Bob in one hand, until he realizes that he never shut the door to the bathroom properly, and Missy has snuck out through the crack in the door.

“Oh no you don’t, little lady”, Billy says and bends down and scoops her up in his other hand and nudges the door open with his shoe.

At first, he can’t see Spartacus anywhere, and briefly panics, thinking he’s somehow gotten out into Harrington’s maze of a house. But then he spots him, and when he does, he freezes up and quickly closes the door again. He leans his back against it and stares straight ahead, a kitten in each hand.

And that’s how Harrington finds him, a minute later when he comes back, holding two plates of food.

“What the hell?” Harrington mutters and frowns. “What are you doing?”

“Spartacus is using the litter box”, Billy hisses, careful not to speak too loudly – because he’d read in one of the books that one wasn’t supposed to disturb the kittens when they started using the litter box – and not caring that it probably makes him sound (and look) like a lunatic.

But Harrington’s eyes widen and he quickly sets the plates down on his desk and shoulders Billy out of the way to peek inside.

“Hey!” Billy growls, but it’s half-hearted and he finds himself peering in, too. Spartacus is still there, and when he sees them he makes an indignant sound which makes Billy grin from ear to ear.

Harrington huffs out a laugh and closes the door, and when he turns to Billy, he’s smiling too. For a second, they’re actually standing there like two idiots, smiling at each other, until it hits them how strange that is. Harrington lowers his eyes and bends his face closer to Bob and Missy, still in Billy’s hands, and murmurs, “Now all you have to do is follow his example. So I don’t have to step in your messes when I have to get up and pee at night, okay?”

Billy snorts. He kind of wants to ask if that has actually happened, but in the end he doesn’t. Instead, he holds out Bob for Harrington to take, and nods towards the plates on the desk.

“So, what’s for dinner?”

“Leftovers from yesterday”, Harrington replies, and takes Bob and tucks him up under his chin, giving him a little hug. Something deep down in Billy’s chest twinges, suddenly, and he turns his attention to the food.

Leftovers in the Hargrove household usually consists of whatever they had for dinner last night, chopped up into pieces and fried in a pan until it’s slightly burned, but this? This is chicken – actual _slices_ of chicken – and carrots and potatoes and pieces of onion, along with a salad and some kind of gravy. It looks good, and smells even better.

“You always have a side salad with your leftovers, Harrington?” Billy can’t help but sneer, and doesn’t reach for a plate until Harrington picks one up and shoves it at him.

“As if”, Harrington mutters. “This will last me a couple of days, at most, then I’m back to pizza and TV-dinners.”

Billy raises a questioning eyebrow and stands there, a little awkwardly, balancing a plate of food in one hand and a squirming kitten in the other. Harrington shrugs. “My parents are usually away during the weeks. And like I said, I’m not much for cooking.” He motions to the plate. “Neither is my mom. This is takeout.”

“Takeout? What kind of takeout comes with a _side salad_?”

Steve gives a sarcastic grin. “The best kind that money can buy.”

It’s Billy’s turn to shrug, because he doesn’t know what else to do. “Pizza and TV-dinners sound good to me.”

Harrington gives a half-hearted smile and starts to sit down in the chair by the desk, before he seems to realize that there’s only the one chair in the room, which would leave Billy sitting either on the bed or on the floor.

“Uhm”, he says and gestures to the floor. “I guess we can sit on the floor?”

At least he’s not making Billy sit there alone. Billy carefully lowers himself to a sitting position on the floor, with his back to the side of Harrington’s bed, while Steve sits cross-legged on the floor some distance away. Bob takes the opportunity to escape his hold, and starts to explore the surroundings. Missy doesn’t seem to appreciate being jostled, and Billy swears when she starts climbing up his T-shirt and up on his shoulders. Her tiny claws are sharp, and he almost spills the food off the plate before he grabs it with both hands to right it.

He puts the plate down and reaches out for Missy when she’s climbing off him and onto the bed, and he only pulls his hand back when Harrington laughs at him.

“Leave her”, he says. “She wants to look around. Let’s just eat while it’s still warm.”

So they do. And it’s _weird_. They don’t talk much, at first, because without the cats as a shield between them, what do they have to talk about? But the silence is apparently not sitting right with Harrington, because he starts commenting on things, and Billy can’t just stay quiet, so after a while they’re actually holding up a non-kitten related conversation.

Billy has just started feeling like he can let his guard down a little, when Steve’s eyes widen and he sucks in a breath. Billy looks to the side, spots Missy tumbling off the edge of the bed, and reacts on instinct.

Half a second later, he’s lying on the floor, his hands outstretched – having caught Missy just before she would have hit the floor. He blinks and holds his breath, and feels something hard dig into his ribs.

Then Harrington starts to laugh. And Billy realizes that the thing digging into his ribs is, in fact, the plate and the fork which he apparently just dropped before he threw himself after Missy. He realizes this at the same time as he notices that the gravy left on his plate – or what isn’t now splattered out on the floor, at least – is seeping into the fabric of his shirt.

“Aw, fuck”, he mutters, prompting Harrington to laugh even harder. He pulls back his elbows and tries to get back into a sitting position without messing up even worse, wincing a little at the movement. Then he puts Missy down on the floor, gently, and shoos her away from where she starts sniffing the spilled food.

His shirt is sticky, and he pulls it away from his skin with a disgusted grunt. Harrington is gasping for breath at this point, and has had to put his plate down in order to wrap his arms around his stomach. Billy wants to be annoyed, but the other boy’s laughter sounds so genuine that he can’t help having to bite his lip to keep a smile off his own face.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Harrington”, he mumbles, and Harrington does.

The guy’s got actual _tears_ in his eyes when he manages to get out, “The look on your face!” and dammit, Billy’s having some trouble fighting the grin that wants to emerge, faced with this much pure glee.

He somehow succeeds, though, and watches as Harrington has to lie down on the floor until his giggles subside. He can feel his ears burn in embarrassment, and not knowing what else to do, he distracts himself with picking up the spilled food. He gets up and puts the plate away on the desk, before getting a towel from the bathroom and using that to clean up the mess on the floor. When he’s done, Harrington has calmed down enough to stand up. He’s still grinning though, the bastard.

“Gimme that”, he says and takes the dirty towel. He leaves the room, and returns a little while later with a folded up shirt.

_Billy’s_ shirt.

“Here.”

Billy raises his eyebrow before he remembers; it’s the shirt that he used to line the shoebox he brought the kittens over in. It’s been cleaned and ironed, obviously, and Billy briefly wonders about that. Mrs Harrington doesn’t seem like the type of woman who enjoys doing laundry, and he highly doubts that Harrington took the time to clean his shirt for him.

But here it is, in Harrington’s hand – obviously cleaned up. Harrington shakes it a little, and nods at the mess on Billy’s T-shirt, which is sticking to his skin uncomfortably.

So Billy pulls the T-shirt off his head and uses it to wipe down his chest. And that’s when he realizes that his skin is still adorned with bruises from a couple of nights ago. Eyes widening, he turns around and hopes that Harrington didn’t see, and only belatedly remembers that there are bruises on his back, too. He hurriedly pulls on the clean shirt and takes a deep breath before schooling his face into an indifferent mask and turning back to face Harrington.

Harrington isn’t smiling anymore. There’s a small wrinkle between his eyebrows, actually, and when he opens his mouth, Billy hurries to interrupt him.

“I’m gonna go. Thanks for dinner, Harrington.”

And Harrington, miraculously, doesn’t comment. Gives a little nod. “Sure.”

Billy shoulders past him to get to the door, and bites his lip with his hand hovering over the door handle. And, because he’s feeling vulnerable and he _hates_ it, he says “I’m gonna get you your money tomorrow too. At school.”

“You don’t have to –“

“Yeah, well I’m gonna!” Billy snarls. He may not be as rich as Harrington, living in a huge house with an en-suite bathroom and a room just for a dining-room table, but he can damn well afford to pay for what is _his_.

Harrington takes a step back and holds up his hands in a placating gesture, and Billy takes a deep breath. “I’ll try to figure something out tomorrow. Look around, see if I can find a place for them.”

Harrington glances heavenwards before giving a one-shouldered shrug.

“Look, man, it’s really no problem. My parents leave tomorrow morning, and I’ll have the house to myself for the week.” He pulls at the hair at the nape of his neck and is not looking at Billy. “They can stay, for a few more days. You can … you can still come over and feed them, or whatever, if you want.”

It sounds like _pity_ to Billy’s ears. And it makes him want to sneer, and say something insulting, and _push_ and _punch_ and _hurt_ , but something nudges his leg and he looks down to see Spartacus there – moving around a room freely, and not having to be hidden in a box in a closet – so he takes a deep breath and just nods.

“We’ll see”, he says, but he knows that he’ll take Harrington up on it. He doesn’t have a lot of options, after all.

He can’t resist bending down and scratching Spartacus’ dark fur for a second, but then he stands up and leaves, without looking back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates today, because I was too tired to do it yesterday.

Steve’s parents leave in the morning; their bags are already packed and waiting by the door when he stumbles down the stairs for breakfast. His mother hugs him and his father claps him on the shoulder, and then the taxi is there to pick them up, and a minute later it’s driving off. It’s half an hour before he needs to leave for school and he’s alone in a big empty house, and everything is so quiet.

He brings his bowl of cereal up to his room and eats it while sitting on the floor with his back to the bed, where Billy was sitting yesterday, with the three little cats tumbling around on the floor around him. Bob keeps climbing up his legs, and he smiles around the cereal.

He leaves the empty bowl on his desk and feeds the kittens before he realizes he’s running late. He jumps into a pair of pants and pulls on a shirt, opens up a can of cat food and puts it on the floor of his bathroom before closing the door and all but running out. He drives to school too fast, but it gets him there just as the bell rings.

At lunch, he faces a problem. The problem’s name is Billy.

“Harrington.”

Steve nods at him, silently wondering if this is the more civil Billy he’s seen over the weekend, or the usual asshole.

“Hargrove.”

Billy grabs his elbow and pulls him to the side, not caring that Steve’s holding a tray with his lunch on it, which almost results in another food-related accident. Some kid has to jump out of the way and protests about it until Billy glares at him. He’s quick to slink away after that.

“What’s up?” Steve asks when Billy turns back to face him. This is weird. They ate together yesterday and Steve laughed until he almost threw up and then there was the thing with Billy’s bruises which Steve is still trying not to think about, and then Billy got angry and left, so Steve isn’t exactly sure what’s going to happen now. Is Billy going to act like a normal person, or is he going to punch him in the face? Honestly, it feels like it’s 50-50.

“You fed the cats?”

Steve blinks. “Yeah, of course. I said I would. Twice last night, and this morning before I left for school.”

“I meant, now”, Billy says and blows a curl out of his eyes. “Lunch.”

“I’m”, Steve says, because the answer should be obvious, since he’s _here_. “No?”

“Harrington–“

“I left a bowl of cat food out, though!” Steve hurries to add. “So it’s not like they’ll starve!”

Billy’s eyebrows does something that speaks of disapproval, and he huffs out a frustrated breath. “They’re too young to eat food from a bowl.” And if Steve didn’t know better, he’d say that Billy looks worried – but he _does_ know better, so he’s probably just constipated.

Whatever it is, it somehow makes Steve feel the first stirrings of _guilt_ instead of annoyance, which is unexpected. He hadn’t really thought much about it. He’d made plans to meet with Nancy during lunch and get some last-minute-studying in for a test this afternoon, and he hadn’t … He hadn’t really thought about it. Surely the cats would be fine a couple of hours more? They _had_ food.

They are tiny, though. Billy’s right about that. What if Billy’s right about the cat food, too?

Billy’s looking at him with raised eyebrows – no doubt waiting for him to come to some kind of conclusion. Nancy is waving at him from a table in the other end of the cafeteria, with a pinched expression on her face. She looks between him and Billy, and Steve knows that he’s going to have to explain things to her.

Billy’s still waiting for some kind of reaction, though. So Steve pulls his keys out of his pocket – and no, no one has ever accused him of making good choices – and pulls the house key off the keyring. Throws it in the air and watches as Billy fumbles to catch it.

“You do it”, Steve says (and secretly revels in the fact that he’s managed to put such a dumbstruck expression on Billy Hargrove’s face).

“What”, Billy states.

“I can’t get away until after school. I have a test to prepare for. My grade’s depending on it, and if I fail I’ll probably end up in summer school and my future will go down the drain and I’ll disappoint my parents –“ And he _knows_ he’s rambling, but Nancy is standing up and looks like she’s coming over, and just, _no_. “– so anyway, if you wanna feed them, feed them. You know where everything is.”

Billy is holding the key as if it was a scorpion.

“Are you _serious_?”

Steve’s regretting this already, but snatching the key back would make him seem like even more of a basket case, so he nods. “Just don’t touch anything, and stay out of my stuff. And give me the key back later.”

Nancy’s walking towards them. Steve does _not_ want to have to explain everything to her right now, not before a big test. So he pats Billy on the shoulder, fights back a wince because he just _patted Billy’s shoulder like they’re friends or something_ , and turns his back on him.

No one’s following him, and he doesn’t hear any shouts or steps behind him, so he figures Billy took the key and left. He meets Nancy halfway and blinds her with a smile that she sees right through.

“What was that?”

“What?”

“Billy Hargrove. And you. What were you talking about? What did you give him?”

Steve’s mind is blank, and he’s not sure why he doesn’t want to tell Nancy about the cats but his mind jumps to the first lie he can think of; the same one he told his parents. “We’re doing a project together.”

“Project?” Nancy says, voice full of disbelief. “What kind of project?”

“Uh. Chemistry.”

The look Nancy levels him with makes him feel like he’s six years old again and has been caught flushing his mom’s pearls down the toilet.

“You don’t have chemistry together.”

***

In the end, he gives her a watered-down version of what happened Thursday night, basically just telling her that Billy showed up on his doorstep with a box of kittens and needed him to look after them for a while, and that Steve agreed.

When Nancy looks like she’s gearing up to ask him _why_ , he pleads with her to please just drop it for the moment, because his whole future is basically riding on this grade. That shuts her up, and they spend the rest of their lunch period going over what is most likely to show up on the test.

Before she lets him go to class, though, she stops him with a hand on his arm.

“About Billy”, she says, a little hesitant. “Are you sure this is such a good idea?”

Steve is actually pretty damn certain that it’s a _horrible_ idea, but he doesn’t say that. Instead, he shrugs and gives her a smile. “Don’t worry about it, Nance. Worry about my grades!”

She smiles back, even though it looks reluctant. “I do. Constantly.”

***

He’s pretty sure he passes, which puts him in a good mood for all of an hour, until he realizes that Billy should have found him and given the key back by now. He looks outside, and sees that Billy’s Camaro isn’t parked outside the school, and that’s when he starts to worry.

He knows from experience that it does not take even an hour to feed all three kittens, even if one has to prepare the formula, and now it’s been almost three hours. And Billy’s still not back.

He’s assaulted by mental images of Billy vandalizing his home; going through his things, finding his dad’s liquor cabinet and stealing all the bottles, lighting a fire on the kitchen table. Smoking inside and throwing cigarette butts all over the floor. Finding Steve’s bat, and using it on his mother’s potted plants.

He skips last period.

Driving home, he tells himself he’s overreacting – his imagination never used to provide him with such vivid images before the whole monster thing happened – but he still can’t make himself adhere to the speed limit.

He breathes a sigh of relief when he turns into his driveway and sees the house still standing. Billy’s Camaro is parked on the street, and from what Steve can see through the windows, his mother’s potted plants are unharmed.

The door is unlocked, which is simultaneously a relief and a warning sign.

Steve finds Billy in the big bathroom upstairs. He’s drawn there by the sound of a running tap, and the sound of splashing water, and … humming? And honestly, he should be getting used to being surprised by now.

Because Billy – Billy Hargrove, resident bad boy of Hawkins – is on his knees on the bathroom floor, bending down over the bathtub with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. He reaches up and turns the tap off, and without looking back he says, “Are you just gonna stand there and stare, or are you gonna help?”

Steve supposes he heard the car, or the door slam shut. Either that, or he’s psychic. Wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen in Steve’s life lately.

“Help with what?”

He walks closer and peers down into the tub. The sight that greets him makes him go “Aww”, without quite meaning to.

The bottom of the tub is covered in maybe half an inch of water, and Billy is holding a struggling Missy and gently cleaning her fur with a folded-up washcloth. Spartacus and Bob are standing frozen in the water, looking like they’re afraid to move, with their fur sticking up in every direction. Their new spiky look is not caused only by water, though. They’re _dirty_.

“What did you _do_ to them?” Steve exclaims without thinking, but Billy just snorts out a laugh.

“The real question here, Harrington, is what did they do to your bathroom?”

“What? What did they do to my bathroom?”

“Exactly.” Billy looks at Steve over his shoulder and grins. “Why don’t you go take a look?”

Steve goes, if only to get a minute to sort through everything that’s going through his head. The door to his room is ajar, and the door to his bathroom is wide open. And his bathroom is –

His bathroom is a mess. The bowl that Steve had left there this morning is turned over, and its content is spread out over the white tiles of the floor. _All over_ the floor, because it looks like the kittens rolled around in it and then dragged it everywhere.

Come to think of it, that’s probably what happened.

Looking closely, he can see tiny paw prints going out the door into his room. Curious, he follows them. They lead towards the hallway, and then he can’t see them anymore, even if there is a dark smudge of what must be cat food on the doorway.

Okay. Fine. So maybe leaving a big bowl of messy cat food with three tiny kittens wasn’t his best idea.

With a sigh, he walks back into his bathroom, sidesteps the worst of the mess and picks up a towel. He wets it in the sink and starts scrubbing.

When he finishes, he throws the towel in the sink and returns to the other bathroom. Billy’s still on his knees on the floor, but he has apparently finished washing the kittens because Missy and Bob are currently stumbling around on the floor – fur standing in every direction as if they just came out of the dryer – and he’s currently busy toweling off Spartacus with a fluffy hand towel. Spartacus is not amused, judging from the sounds he’s making.

“Oh my god”, Steve breathes, “that is adorable.”

Billy doesn’t tell him to shut up, instead he just smiles down at the small cat in his hands, and Steve crouches down and puts his hands out to stop Missy from escaping out into the hallway. In doing so, he gets a better look at her, and –

“Billy”, he says, voice flat. “Did you try to give Missy a mohawk?”

Billy’s smile widens into a grin. “Damn right I did. And she _rocks it_.” His smile softens when he looks at her, now trying to jump out of Steve’s hands. “It wouldn’t stay up, though. Don’t suppose you’ve got any good hair products?”

And his voice is _just_ this side of suggestive.

Steve looks at him sharply, but Billy doesn’t meet his eyes. There’s nothing to indicate that Billy knows about the can of Farrah Fawcett hair spray that Steve hides under the sink, but also – something he’s just realizing – Billy’s been spending a lot of time in his bathroom, unsupervised.

He gets the distinct and uneasy feeling that Billy _knows_.

***

When the cats are clean and dry, they mix up some more formula – Billy had apparently done some earlier, but not been able to get much into them.

“I came here and found them, covered in cat food – well, you saw it – and Bob ran out the door and under your bed, and while I was trying to get to him, Missy and Spartacus got out into the hallway. I found Missy, and put her back in the bathroom, but Bob was still under the bed – you may want to do some cleaning under there, by the way – so I left him there and went looking for Spartacus. Finally found him in … your dad’s office? … Behind a bookshelf, chewing on an electrical cord. Put him with Missy, went to make the formula, forgot to close the door to the room … So when I got back, _Bob_ was missing. Looked through the whole floor, only to find that he’d somehow managed to get down the stairs and into the kitchen. I fed them, and then had to do some cleaning up – Anyway, I left the bathroom for you, since it’s your fault this happened in the first place.”

Steve’s laughing at the retelling of events when they sit down on the floor of Steve’s now spotless bathroom to feed them again. Steve uses the bottle while Billy’s attempting – and failing – to use a spoon. They’re not talking, but the silence doesn’t feel oppressing, especially as they’re not really silent at all.

“Bob, just take the … there you go. Good boy.”

“Awww, no, Spartacus, let your brother eat in peace.”

“Oh, no, Missy no you’re making a mess!”

Steve fights back a grin, because to him it looks like it’s _Billy_ who’s making the mess, but he doesn’t say anything because Billy’s smiling too, and it’s a rare thing to see on the other boy’s face.

When they’re done (and after Steve took over after Billy, and having much more success since he’s using the bottle), they pick up the kittens and bring them back to Steve’s room, where they let them roam free. Door closed.

“I’m gonna head out”, Billy says.

“Yeah”, Steve says. “Sure.”

Billy doesn’t leave immediately though; instead he takes a few steps closer and abruptly brings his hand up. Steve fights as to not flinch back, and is quite successful, and then Billy waves his hand in front of his face and Steve sees the bills between his fingers.

“What’s this?”

“I said I’d pay you”, Billy says and raises his chin.

Steve frowns. “You don’t have to –“

He shuts up when Billy glares at him. Throws his hands out in an ‘okay, fine’-gesture, but he’s still not reaching for the money. Billy seems to realize this, and grins as he puts the bills down Steve’s shirt, pats his chest and says, “Buy yourself something pretty”.

Steve’s first reaction is to yelp, but once he’s moved on to glaring, Billy’s already walking away. And he’s laughing, the bastard.

He hears Billy’s steps in the stairs when he finally digs the bills out from under his shirt, and he’s still staring at the money when the front door slams shut.

He didn’t think that Billy would actually pay him, and if he did, he’d expected maybe ten dollars, tops. But no. Billy left him thirty bucks.


	7. Chapter 7

Strangely, they work out some kind of routine over the next week. Billy _was_ going to look for another solution; he had planned on asking around in school, or bite the bullet and take a drive back to Dr Cook, but as the week progresses he kinda … doesn’t.

It _works_ , keeping the kittens at Harrington’s. And not only that; it works _well_. Harrington takes care of them during the night and the morning, and Billy usually offers to drive over during lunch, and sometimes after school if Harrington has to drive the brats around. And then Harrington is responsible for the evenings.

The bruises on Billy’s skin fades, he’s got access to his car again, he’s paid off his debt – all in all, life is not so completely fucked up, anymore. It helps that Neil seems to think he’s learned his lesson, and is mostly leaving him alone.

On Friday, Harrington is roped into hanging out with the geek squad, and Billy can’t wrap his mind around the fact that this guy used to run the school before Billy showed up.

“I don’t know …” he hears Harrington say into the phone in the other room. Billy has a lap full of kittens – they’ve really started to venture out, now, and are more likely to run around (if a little unsteady) than they had been a week ago – and is currently pretending he isn’t listening in. He’d gone straight to Harrington’s after school, and parked behind Harrington’s car in the driveway. He’d talked to Dr Cook again yesterday, and the man said that they could start introducing some real cat food to the kittens’ diet – he’d even recommended a brand – and so Billy had bought a can of it and brought it over. (And if he’d also tied a shoestring to the end of a stick and added a little fluffy ball of yarn that he yanked off of one of Max’s winter mittens? Then that was pure coincidence.)

Now, Harrington sounds hesitant.

“I don’t know”, he says again, and Billy picks up Spartacus and walks out into the hallway to see what’s going on. Steve sees him coming and covers the mouthpiece of the phone.

“What’s up?” Billy asks and lets Spartacus bite his finger.

Steve shrugs. “Nothing. The kids want me to come over.”

Raising his eyebrows, Billy considers the mental image of Steve being a part of Max’s friends’ nerdy little get-together. “You gonna play that monster game they’re so into, Harrington?”

“Nah”, Steve says and shakes his head. “I’ve got to stay at home. I’ve got kitten duty, you know.”

He draws in breath and turns back to the phone, probably to say just that, and Billy can hear someone loudly yelling in the other end. Without thinking, he reaches out and snatches the phone out of Harrington’s hands, and hangs up.

Harrington whirls around and glares at him. “What the _hell_ , Billy!?”

Raising Spartacus a little, and not admitting that he’s kind of hiding behind him, Billy holds up a hand. “Hang on, wait.” He licks his lips. “I was just thinking, you can go, if you want to.”

“I can –“ Harrington squints at him. “What?”

“I mean, I could do kitten duty tonight. If you wanted.” Harrington’s not speaking; just looking at him weirdly, and Billy grimaces. “I don’t mean like I’ll stay in the house!” Because of course Harrington wouldn’t want him alone in his house. “I’ll take them out for a drive or something. Take them in the Camaro. Show them around Hawkins.”

Maybe he could drive out to the quarry – or, no, it’s a Friday night, there would doubtlessly be some drunk teenagers hanging out there. The parking lot behind the school, then. Neil hadn’t said he couldn’t stay out, and he would almost expect it on a Friday. Billy could stay out for a long time; he and the kittens could make a night out of it, while Harrington did whatever it was he did when he hung out with those kids.

But Harrington only scrunches his eyebrows together and still doesn’t say anything, until the phone rings again and he picks up.

“Yeah? Yeah, sorry Dustin, I dropped the phone. No I’m not _drunk_. Yes I can drive.” A sigh. “Fine, I’ll come over. Just for a couple of hours though, okay? Okay. Yeah. See you later. Bye.”

Turning to Billy, he looks at him as if he’s already changing his mind. “You sure?” Billy is almost offended; he is perfectly able to take care of the kittens by himself for a night. They’re his to take care of, after all.

“Yeah. No problem.”

With Spartacus in his arms, there’s only the question of locating Bob and Missy, and since he left them in the living room, he’s pretty sure they’re either hiding under the couch or playing on the rug under the table, so he goes to look for them there. Unsurprisingly, they’re both under the couch, and he has to crouch down and try to coax them out while still holding on to Spartacus.

“Come on, you little shits”, he coos. “Wanna go for a drive with daddy?”

Somehow, he manages to get them all out and into his arms, but when he stands up and turns he almost jumps, because Harrington is _right there_.

“Whoa, Harrington. Ever heard of personal space?”

“Why can’t you take them home?” Harrington asks, and Billy’s standing in Harrington’s fancy living room with an armful of kittens and he is _not_ prepared for that question, so he opens his mouth only to close it again. Swallows. Tries again.

“I just wanna let them see something else other than your place”, he says, before he realizes that that is not an answer – and it’s definitely not the answer Harrington is after. But it’s also not a question Harrington has any right asking. So he tries for levity. “They’ve been cooped up in here for a week. Let them see the _world_ , man.”

Harrington clenches his jaw and looks from the kittens to Billy and back again, before sighing.

“Your car is too loud. You’ll scare them. Just stay here, if you insist on keeping an eye on them while I’m gone.”

And that’s not what Billy expects at all. He expected to be questioned to the point of anger. He expected, in a worst case scenario, having to take the kittens and leave for good. Not … this. Being allowed to stay, even if Harrington is not around to keep an eye on him.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Sure”, Harrington says. “You know where everything important is, and it’s not like I’ll be long.”

A week ago, Harrington had him kneel in the rain and beg. Now he’s not only _not pressing_ about Billy’s home life, but also offering to leave Billy alone in his house. They’ve come a long way in a short time. Billy’s just started feeling a little touched, when Harrington adds, “Oh, and for the record, the Chief of Police’s daughter is gonna be there, too. I know her dad _very_ well. So if you step one toe out of line, you’ll regret it.”

The thing is, though, that it’s not really a threat. There’s a hint of a smile on Harrington’s face when he says it, even if he looks stern, and Billy raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“What’s the matter, Harrington? Afraid I’m gonna steal all your _Farrah Fawcett hairspray_?”

He’s not saying it to be an ass. He’s just leveling the playing field a little.

Billy gets the pleasure of seeing Harrington’s eyes widen, and then see color rise on his cheeks while he tries to look unaffected. To his credit, he doesn’t try to deny it. Instead, he raises his chin as if to say _‘so what?’_ and reaches out to pick up Missy – who’s escaped Billy’s grasp and is climbing up his arm towards his shoulder.

“No. I’m afraid you’ll burn the house down, actually. You smoke like a chimney.”

Billy laughs and readjusts his grip on the other two cats. “I don’t smoke inside, Harrington. I respect your mother too much for that.”

Harrington sends him a dirty look, but it only makes Billy laugh more.

***

It’s actually a nice night. Steve didn’t expect to have such a good time – what with being surrounded by six kids several years his junior – but Mrs Henderson (“Claudia, dear”) had made four different kinds of cookies and Steve ate, like, half of them himself while the kids were busy discussing and trying to explain rules and scenarios.

Steve’s not entirely sure he understood how it worked, but Max and El didn’t seem to be that into it, either, so at least he wasn’t alone. Plus, he ate _so many cookies_.

What it was, though, was a night surrounded by, if not _friends_ , then at least people who enjoyed his company. So different from most nights, which he spent either alone in his big house, or with his parents home but not really present.

So, when he gets home – way later than he’d planned to – he’s not expecting Billy to still be there. But the Camaro is still parked outside, and there are lights on in the kitchen and in Steve’s room on the second floor.

He opens the door and peers inside. No one’s in the kitchen, and the living room is empty and dark. The TV is off, and he can’t hear any other sounds in the house, either.

“Billy?” Steve calls out, but is only met with silence.

He frowns. Making his way to the second floor, he tries again. “You here, Billy?”

The hallway is dark and empty, and there is no sign of either Billy or the kittens. Steve feels a stab of something that might be worry – but that’s _ridiculous_ – before he pushes open the door to his room –

– and stops. And stares.

And then he has to bite his lip to avoid bursting into laughter.

“If you make a sound I will fucking kill you, Harrington”, Billy hisses from his bed, and points at him with one finger.

Steve is not intimidated in the least, because he has literally _never_ seen Billy look less threatening for as long as he’s known him. He is lying half on Steve’s bed, with his legs over the side, like he just sat down and was pushed back, and he’s taken his shoes off and his hair’s in disarray. He’s not moving.

The _reason_ why he’s not moving is what completes the picture.

Missy and Bob are curled up on his chest – Missy’s high enough that her tail’s touching the underside of Billy’s jaw – and Spartacus has taken up residence on the bed by Billy’s left ear, and has managed to burrow himself into Billy’s hair.

It is _absolutely adorable_ , and Steve has to slap a hand over his own mouth so he won’t start making high-pitched noises at them. Kittens or no kittens, he’s pretty sure Billy would find a way to kill him if he did. Maybe with the power of his glare, which is reaching impressive levels of intensity already.

“Don’t just stand there”, Billy whispers harshly. “Help me!”

At this, Steve actually laughs, and gets to watch Billy throw a worried glance at the cats before resuming his glaring at Steve by the door. Steve grins at him.

“You know”, he drawls and takes a couple of steps into the room, “I don’t think I will.”

“Harrington”, Billy says, warningly, but Steve holds up a hand.

“Careful now, Billy, wouldn’t wanna wake up the kittens, hmm?”

Billy is _completely powerless_ , and it’s such a trip. If Steve thought that having Billy Hargrove kneeling on his doorstep was going to be a power trip, he was wrong – this is _way_ better. Steve’s still grinning when he walks over to his closet, and he knows he probably looks a little deranged, because Billy is trying to follow him with his eyes without moving his head too much.

“Where are you going? What are you doing?”

Steve ignores him in favor of rifling through the random shit on the highest two shelves, where he keeps things he never actually uses. When his fingers brush what he was searching for, he can feel his grin turn evil.

Billy sees it too, when Steve turns around, and he actually looks worried. When he sees what’s in Steve’s hands, his eyes widen.

“Hey, no, Harrington. _No_!”

“ _Oh_ _yes_ ”, Steve says and walks closer.

“I’ll _kill_ you. No, Steve, no! Don’t you fucking dare, I’ll –“

Steve walks closer – stopping just out of reach of Billy’s arm, just in case he’s desperate enough to try to make a move – and gives Billy a saccharine smile.

“Say cheese”, he says, and raises the camera.

Billy’s face falls just in time for Steve to snap a photo, and Steve laughs.

“I hate you”, Billy says, and Steve laughs even more.

Billy frowns and glances worriedly at the kittens (Steve has the presence of mind to take another photo). “Will you keep it down, you’ll wake them up!”

Steve’s trying to keep it down, really he _is_ , but Spartacus is stretching in Billy’s hair and Billy freezes with his eyes wide open and holds his breath and he looks so un-Billy-like that Steve can’t help himself. He takes another picture, and when Billy notices and throws up his middle finger, he takes a fourth one.

“You’re dead”, Billy says, and Steve dissolves in helpless giggles.

“Yeah, sure!” he gasps between laughter and trying to draw breath. “I’m so scared … _Hargrove_!”

And Billy’s doing something with his face and for a second Steve’s wondering if he’s having a stroke, but then he realizes that Billy’s trying not to laugh, and that _does it_.

He laughs, and he laughs, and he has actual tears running down his face when he has to lean on his dresser so he won’t keel over. Billy’s screwing his eyes shut, but he’s fighting a losing battle and eventually he can’t help but let his own laugh escape. It jostles Missy and Bob, who wakes up and looks around, and Billy’s hands come up to cradle them against his chest as he mock-glares at Steve.

“You absolute asshole, you woke them up!”

“I did _not_!” Steve gasps. “You were the one … who moved!”

Billy’s trying to sit up, and Steve yelps and runs out of the room to save the camera. He dashes down the stairs – and he’s pretty sure he’s got a good head start, because Spartacus was pretty deeply tangled in Billy’s hair – and by the time Billy stalks downstairs, Steve’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, no camera to be found.

When Billy enters the kitchen he doesn’t even hesitate; he takes a couple of long strides up to Steve, looking murderous. If Steve hadn’t just seen him helpless under the weight of three tiny balls of fluff, and if Billy weren’t currently carrying all of them in his arms, he might have gotten nervous. As it is, he just smiles.

“Your turn”, Billy says and awkwardly hands over all three kittens to Steve, to loud protests from Bob and Spartacus.

“Hey, what–“

As he’s scrabbling to make sure he doesn’t drop anyone, Billy smirks and walks past him to the kitchen cupboard where he knows they keep the formula.

Steve gives up trying to contain the three wriggling (and now well-rested) kittens one minute later, and drops them down to the floor, letting them walk around freely in the kitchen. Billy gives him a look and raises one eyebrow as if to say ‘amateur’, but continues mixing the formula without a word.

There are no kittens between them, and Billy still hasn’t tried to kill him. Steve’s feeling pretty good about his chances of survival, but he doesn’t want to risk anything, so he points to the doorway.

“I’ll just … get the bottle.”

When he gets back, two minutes later, Billy’s done with the formula and is crouching on the floor, pulling a ribbon (that he obviously stole from one of the curtains by the window) back and forth and watching as Missy and Spartacus are chasing it. Billy’s not even looking up; too busy entertaining the cats. There is a smile on his face that Steve can barely see, because he’s bent his head forward, but it makes Steve smile, too.

Bob’s busy exploring, and Steve puts a foot in front of him as he’s trying to sneak past him out into the hallway.

“We’ve got a runner”, Steve comments, casually. “What kind of cat sitter are you, Hargrove? Letting them run free like this?”

Billy glances up, briefly. “Who are you calling a sitter, Harrington? From what I hear, you’re Hawkins’ _babysitter extraordinaire_.”

Steve decides not to comment, because he’s nice like that. He _could_ say that while Billy was the one to ask him for help, Steve has spent more time with the kittens by now. But it feels wrong, to say it – especially since Billy gave him another fifteen dollars yesterday (“For food and board, and shit”) and ignored his protests until Steve sighed and put them away.

For some reason, the topic of the kittens’ caretaking seems to be a sore subject to Billy, and Steve doesn’t want to think of why that might be.

So he doesn’t.

Steve finishes with the bottle, picks up Missy in one hand and sits down by the kitchen table. Billy stays on the floor and keeps Bob and Spartacus occupied. It’s warm, it’s silent … it’s goddamn _domestic_.

Suddenly a sound disturbs the calm. Steve’s head flies up and he stares at Billy, who’s frozen. The sound comes again, and Steve realizes what it is.

“Dude”, Steve says. “Have you eaten?”

Billy’s cheeks are reddening even as his stomach rumbles again. “I’ll make something when I get home.”

Steve glances at the clock on the wall. It’s a quarter past eleven. Billy came here right after school, and Steve left for Dustin’s before six and neither one of them had eaten by then. And while Steve’s spent the evening stuffing his face with Mrs Henderson’s cookies, Billy obviously hasn’t.

And now that he thinks about it, he remembers that he loaned Billy the key to go and feed the kittens during lunch, too. No wonder Billy’s stomach is rumbling. He must be starving.

“Make a sandwich or something, man”, Steve says and nods to the fridge.

“I’m okay.” His stomach makes another unhappy sound, as in protest, and Steve sighs.

“I’m serious. The fridge is stocked.” Because his mother always made sure to leave him a lot of groceries – and money for takeout, since she knows he doesn’t really cook – before she leaves.

“I’m –“

“I’m not asking, Hargrove”, Steve said and nods at Missy in his lap. “Don’t make me get up and do it myself.”

At that, Billy snorts, but gets up from the floor in one fluid motion and turns his back on Steve to see what’s in the fridge.

Five minutes later, he’s sitting opposite to Steve at the table and devouring a sloppily-made sandwich while Steve looks on in awe.

“Did you even chew that, or did you swallow it whole? Shit, Billy, that must be some kind of record. It took you, what? Seven whole seconds?”

“Swuh ah!” Billy answers through half-chewed bread, which Steve translates to ‘shut up’.

“Make more”, Steve orders. “Shit. I can’t believe you didn’t eat.”

“What was I supposed to eat?” Billy says after chewing and swallowing. “I may be a bad seed, but I’m not going to go rifling through people’s stuff when they’re not home. I have to draw the line somewhere.”

Steve thinks about retorting, _‘But smashing someone over the head with a plate and then beating them unconscious is okay?’_ , but doesn’t.

Billy gets up – probably to make more food – but stops and throws a grin over his shoulder. “Besides, I already told you; I respect your mom too much for that.”

“Man, shut up about my mom already!”

It’s midnight when the cats and Billy have both been fed, and Steve stifles a yawn. Billy, apparently, gets the hint.

“I’m gonna go.”

Steve glances at the window. It’s dark out, and late. His house is big and empty.

“You –“ he says, and then promptly snaps his mouth shut, because he was about to tell Billy that he could stay if he wanted, and that’s nothing short of _crazy_. Because _what_ , does he think they’re friends or something, just because they’ve managed to act civil towards each other for a week? This is still the guy who gave him a concussion, and having him stay over would be the _worst_ _idea_ _ever_.

“Yeah, you probably should”, he says instead, and watches Billy hesitate before giving a little nod and go to find his shoes.

“My parents are coming back tomorrow”, he says apropos of nothing when Billy’s leaving, and Billy’s head snaps up. “So …” He doesn’t know what he means to say. Maybe he means ‘behave’.

“So … I’ll just –“ Billy raises his eyebrows. Nods.

“Yeah”, Steve says, because he’s suddenly awkward for some reason, and doesn’t know why.

Billy nods again, as if he understands. “Okay”, he says, and then he disappears into the darkness.

Half a minute later, Steve can hear the rumble of the Camaro’s engine, and he doesn’t go back inside until he sees the taillights disappear around the bend.

By the time he goes back inside, one of the kittens has made a mess on the kitchen floor, and Steve can’t do anything but sigh.

***

His parents come back around lunchtime the next day, and stay until Monday morning. It feels like a long weekend, especially since Steve has to say no to going out for dinner since he’s still hiding the kittens in his room. He blames homework, and that appeases his father, but his mother gives him a disappointed and troubled look and tells him not to overwork himself.

He almost laughs, at that. He’s _barely_ passing his classes.

If anything, it’s the cats that are keeping him up at night, since he still feels he has to get up at least once a night and get some formula into them. He makes a mental note to ask Billy how long he’ll have to do this.

Speaking of Billy, he doesn’t show his face once during the whole weekend, and Steve doesn’t want to admit it, but he’d kind of gotten used to having him around – and while he is perfectly able to take care of the kittens himself, it was nice to have some company while he did it, even if that company was Billy Hargrove.

Billy was probably out partying, anyway. Actually, he was probably taking advantage of Steve’s willingness to help – because hadn’t he called him a babysitter extraordinaire? – and he had most likely been happy to dump his pets in Steve’s lap and then go out and have fun. Not thinking about Steve, who had to spend his whole weekend inside, pretending to do homework to keep his parents from entering his room.

The more Steve thinks about it, the more annoyed he gets. By the time Monday rolls around, he’s worked himself all the way up to anger, so when Billy approaches him in the hallway before first period, Steve sets his jaw and narrows his eyes. Billy seems to notice his mood, and falters.

“You good, Harrington?”

Steve tampers down on his annoyance. He doesn’t want to complain about having to do the exact thing he offered to do, because even he can recognize that it would make him sound like a whiny five year old, but he also wants to make his displeasure known.

“Yeah. Fine. Awesome.”

Tilting his head to the side, Billy looks hesitant. “You sure?” Because yeah, Steve’s biting tone and one-word answers did not exactly scream ‘awesome’.

“Yeah. How was your weekend? Did you find some party to go to, Saturday?” And he knows that he sounds petty, but he can’t stop. Billy opens his mouth to reply, but Steve continues without letting him. “Me, I spent the whole weekend cooped up in my room. But hey, at least I got some school work done, right?”

“Are you–“ Billy says and stops. Narrows his eyes. “Are you _mad_ at me?”

“No, why would I be mad?” And oh god, Steve sounds like a woman scorned or something, and decides to go for the more direct approach. “I just wasted away the whole weekend inside, watching _your_ kittens.”

He expects Billy to laugh at him, because he sounds ridiculous even to his own ears, and is therefore surprised when Billy seems to get _angry_.

“Are you kidding me, Harrington? Are you seriously angry at me for not showing up?”

Steve doesn’t want to say _yes_ , but he’s not about to say _no_ either, so he says nothing. Billy huffs.

“That’s rich. You told me to stay away, and now you’re mad that I did what you said?”

“What?” Steve asks, because _what?_ “I didn’t tell you to stay away.”

“You did, you said your parents were gonna come back and then you pointed at the door and looked all ‘stay away’. You don’t have to spell it out to me, I’m not _dumb_.”

“You _are_ kinda dumb if you got _that_ from–“ Steve starts and then stops himself, because they sound like his parents when they’re arguing and the mere thought makes Steve snap his mouth shut.

He takes a deep breath through his nose and closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them again, Billy’s still glaring at him, but despite the fact that they were basically just snarling at each other – several people are throwing worried glances in their direction, which is fair, considering their history – Billy hasn’t even taken a step forward. Is still keeping his distance, in fact.

“That’s not what I meant”, Steve says when he’s calmed down. It’s not an apology, because he’s pretty sure he doesn’t owe Billy an apology, but it’s an olive branch, at least.

Billy scratches his neck and looks to the side. “Look, I can … I can go back at lunch, if you want to.” That’s not an apology, either.

“Sure”, Steve says and digs in his pocket for the key, which doesn’t mean that he accepts Billy’s not-apology.

“Still trusting me with the key, then?” Billy says with a smile that’s less of a smirk than usual. “Aren’t you afraid that I’ll burn the house down?”

“Nah”, Steve says with a hesitant smile of his own. “You need it to keep the kittens in.”

“Jerk off in your parents’ bed, then?” Billy adds, innocently, and aims a wicked grin his way.

Steve punches him in the arm. “No! What the fuck, Hargrove? What’s _wrong_ with you?”

“So many things, Harrington”, Billy laughs and backs away, pocketing the key. “So many things.”

“That, I can believe”, Steve says and snorts as he turns to his locker to get his books. It’s not until then that he realizes that he _punched_ Billy Hargrove, and is still alive to tell the tale. He looks back over his shoulder and sees Billy swagger down the hallway.

Maybe they’re approaching friendship, after all.

***

Billy brings him back the key after lunch without a word, and also follows him home after school. He parks the Camaro on the street and walks up the driveway just as Steve is getting out of his own car.

“Missed me?” he says, and Steve feels justified in giving him a little shove.

He doesn’t want to admit that the answer might be yes.

***

The week passes quickly. Steve’s parents are due back on Saturday, and Billy asks on Friday if he’s to stay away this time. They’ve grown more comfortable around each other in the last couple of days, so Steve just shakes his head.

“Nah, Spartacus would miss you too much.”

Because Spartacus has proven to be the clingiest of the cats, and often seeks out Billy when he’s there. Steve is proud to say that Bob has latched onto _him_ , so they’re often each playing with a dark kitten, while Missy runs between them and causes trouble for everyone involved.

“She gets that from you”, Steve says and glares at Billy, which makes Billy laugh. Which makes Steve smile, in turn, because he’s found he kind of likes to hear Billy laugh. When it’s not the crazy ‘I’m-about-to-cause-some-serious damage’-laugh, at least.

“Yeah well, she gets _that_ from you”, Billy says and points to where Missy is currently sitting on one end of the couch, rubbing her whole head against a pillow.

Steve makes a face. “I’ll have you know I have never in my whole life done that.”

Billy laughs again. “That’s like, the cat equivalent of brushing her hair, right? And you do that a lot!”

“Not more than you”, Steve says, and he knows he sounds petulant.

“Dangerous territory, _Steve_ ”, Billy says and mimics spraying his hair.

And _crap_ , Steve had almost forgotten that he knew about that.

***

Steve doesn’t sleep well that night. He stays up late, cleaning the house, and then it takes him forever falling asleep. When he wakes up in the middle of the night to feed the cats, it takes him another hour and a half to fall back asleep, afterwards. He’s basically a zombie in the morning when he gets up early, to prepare for his parents’ arrival.

The thing is, though, that Steve’s parents doesn’t come home. Steve’s mother calls on Saturday morning to tell him that they’re still in Boston, and that she and Steve’s father are going through a rough patch, and that he doesn’t have to worry but that they need this time to work out their issues, and that they’ll be home soon. She tells him there’s some emergency money in his father’s office (Steve knows, he found it more than a year ago), and that she’ll call again, real soon, and then she tells him that they both love him _very much_ and then she hangs up.

And Steve? Well, it might not be his best decision at 9.30 pm on a Saturday morning, but he walks over to his dad’s liquor cabinet and brings out a half-empty (rather than half-full; sue him, he’s feeling dramatic) bottle of vodka.

When Billy knocks on the door a couple of hours later – because he still hasn’t learned to ring the goddamned doorbell, apparently – Steve is three things:

  * Drunk
  * Sad
  * Lying on the floor of the living room



“Come in!” he yells when there’s a second knock, and Billy walks in a couple of seconds later, and stops in the doorway.

“What are you doing?”

Steve would think that was obvious, as he’s currently lying on the floor, clutching a bottle of alcohol with a kitten asleep on his stomach, so he gestures at himself and says exactly that.

“Are you _drunk_?” Billy asks, incredulous.

“Yup”, Steve says, and mourns that he can’t drink lying down. (He knows, he tried it ten minutes ago, and managed to spill vodka on his mother’s carpet. Whatever. It’s clear liquid, it won’t leave a stain.)

“Why?” Billy asks, and he’s suddenly closer, looking down at Steve with a wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“Doesn’t matter”, Steve says because he’s _not_ drunk enough to admit to _Billy Hargrove_ , of all people, that he’s acting out because his parents didn’t come home. “Not like there’s anyone here who cares, anyway.” Okay, so maybe he _is_ drunk enough. Fuck. Whatever.

Billy takes the bottle from Steve’s hand and puts it on the table before turning and walking out, and Steve would protest, but it’s not like he can drink while lying down anyway, and it doesn’t look like Bob’s moving any time soon, so.

After a couple of minutes, or maybe longer, Billy comes back into the living room, holding the bottle of formula and a can of cat food with a spoon in one hand, and Missy and Spartacus in the other. It’s a pretty impressive balancing act, especially as Missy is climbing up his arm towards his neck, and Steve snorts at the sight.

Neither of them says anything, and Steve is grateful. He closes his eyes. Even if Billy isn’t talking, there’s something comforting about his presence. Steve can hear him sit down in the couch, and move around, and tut at the kittens. He can hear the sound of fabric against fabric as he moves, and a curse or two when Missy – because it’s always Missy – must have squirmed out of his grip.

Steve doesn’t even notice falling asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s been weird for Billy these last couple of weeks, to spend time alone in Harrington’s house during lunch, when there’s no one else there. The cats are there, sure, but other than them, it’s a big and empty house where Billy by all accounts _should not be_. He feels it in his _bones_ , that he’s not good enough to be in this place, at least without someone else here. It’s way easier to be here when Harrington’s also here, because then they talk, and they banter, and Billy can take his cues from how Harrington acts. It’s _easier_ , when it’s the two of them.

If he’s found it weird to be in Harrington’s empty house, though, that’s got nothing on being in Harrington’s house _while_ _Harrington’s sleeping at his feet_.

He sets Missy down on the floor and watches her stumble off – they’ve been letting the cats roam free on the ground floor lately, since it’s all hardwood floor or tiles, which are easy to clean in case there are any accidents – and picks up Spartacus to give him the bottle. In doing so, he glances down at the sleeping boy on the floor.

Harrington’s head has lulled to the side, and his breaths are deep and bordering on snores. His cheeks are flushed, probably thanks to the alcohol, and his mouth is slightly open and his hair is splayed out like a halo around his head. Harrington is _pretty_ like this, and Billy wishes with _everything he has_ that he knew where Harrington hid that camera, because he wants to keep this image forever.

Harrington, sleeping with Bob curled up on his chest. Billy finds himself smiling to himself. They look fucking adorable – and where did _that_ thought come from?

He tries not to jostle Harrington when he picks up Bob, and sets Spartacus down on his chest in his stead, but Spartacus tromps off as soon as Billy sits back up and leaves Harrington kitten-less, which makes the sleeping boy frown in his sleep, and scratch lazily at his stomach. His shirt rides up a little, showing skin.

He’s kind of pale, Billy thinks, and doesn’t look away from that strip of skin for a long time.

***

It’s a Saturday, so Billy doesn’t have to go anywhere. He had no plans when he woke up this morning – or, rather, no plans that went further than going over to Harrington’s place. He wasn’t too sure of the rest of the day, since Harrington’s parents were supposed to show up and he didn’t know if he was expected to stay there while they were home or not. Turns out, he didn’t have to worry about that. When Steve wakes up, he tells Billy that yeah, no, his parents are in fact _not_ coming home today, and no, he’s not sure when they’ll show up.

That sounds great to Billy, but by the way Harrington’s reaching for the bottle on the table before even getting off the floor, Billy draws the conclusion that Harrington is upset about this.

“‘m not upset”, Harrington grumbles, visibly upset.

So Billy spends the rest of the day watching Harrington drink, and drunkenly play with the cats, and drape himself over half the furniture in the house. He makes lunch (when it seems that Harrington has a craving for pancakes, and threatened to have Billy go out and buy some for him), and convinces Harrington to bring out the camera – which was hidden in one of the drawers in the kitchen – under the guise of taking cute pictures of the cats.

Billy _does_ take cute pictures of the cats. It’s just, Harrington happens to be in a lot of them, too.

He snaps one of Harrington arranging himself and the cats in the sofa, facing the TV, and sniggers, whishing he could see Harrington’s face when he has the film developed.

It should feel like a long day, but the truth is that between Harrington and the kittens, time flies. Harrington’s a surprisingly funny drunk, when Billy can distract him from the topic of his parents. He giggles at everything that Billy says, and even though Billy’s not drinking – someone has to be sober enough to take care of the four helpless creatures in this house – he finds himself having a good time. It’s easier to let his guard down, when Harrington’s not all there. Easier to laugh, easier to talk.

“I _like_ it when you’re drunk”, Harrington says at one point and grins at him. “You’re much more fun this way.” Billy smiles and considers telling him that he’s not, in fact, drunk – and is blindsided by Harrington putting a finger to Billy’s cheek, positively glowing. “See, you’re smiling much more! You should smile more.”

Harrington’s drunkenness evolves into something like a hangover around dinnertime, when Billy decides that ordering pizza sounds like the way to go, since he can’t be bothered to cook. Besides, he only has to suggest it in passing, for Harrington’s eyes to grow huge and for him to rifle through his jacket pocket for some bills.

So they eat pizza, and they watch TV, and Billy feeds the cats. Then Harrington spends ten minutes in the bathroom, throwing up what he’s eaten so far, and Billy leaves him to it.

He may feel a strange urge to take care of Harrington all of a sudden, but he has to draw the line somewhere. There’s no way he’s holding the guy’s hair while he pukes his guts out.

Harrington reemerges from the bathroom eventually, plops down in the couch next to Billy, eats two more slices of pizza, and promptly falls asleep.

That in itself is not a problem.

The problem is, that he falls asleep on Billy’s shoulder. And Billy, well. He can’t help but awkwardly turn the camera on the both of them and make a face when he take a photo.

***

It’s long since outside when Harrington blinks awake, and by that time, Billy’s arm (trapped between Harrington and the couch since Harrington changed positions an hour ago) has long since fallen asleep. The kittens are nowhere to be seen, but Billy put a bowl of cat food and water on the floor in the kitchen around lunch and none of them have wandered into the living room covered in cat food yet, so he figures they’re fine.

“Wh–“ Harrington says and blinks up at Billy, who takes this opportunity to extricate himself. “What time is it?”

Billy checks his watch while trying to subtly rub some feeling back into his arm. “Almost ten.” And wow, he didn’t expect to stay this long. The day took a weird turn, for sure. But he’s not complaining. He’s had fun, as weird as that sounds. There was free food, and Harrington’s TV is bigger than the one they’ve got at home. Besides, a drunk Harrington was entertaining enough to keep Billy from getting bored.

“Ten?” Harrington says and reaches up and scratches his scalp. “At night?”

Billy raises an eyebrow and nods to a window, from where there is absolutely no natural light shining through. “Yes, Harrington”, he says dryly. “At night.”

“Hmm”, is Harrington’s reply. “Why are you still here?”

A part of Billy wants to take offense at that, but one look at Harrington shows that he’s not fully awake yet and may not have been aware of how it sounded.

“Someone had to take care of you guys”, Billy therefore answers. “Besides, you fell asleep on me.”

Harrington chews on air (Billy reaches out for a glass of flat Coke, which has stood abandoned on the table for hours, and hands it to him). “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I don’t know”, Billy says. “You reminded me of the gang – falling asleep on the first warm surface you could find.” And he’s blushing, why is he _blushing_? He clears his throat and continues, “You know how you can’t move when a cat falls asleep on you? It was kinda like that.”

“You calling me a cat?” Harrington says while closing his eyes and smushing his face in between the couch and Billy’s shoulder. Billy snorts.

“Nah, Harrington. You don’t have fur.”

“Damn right”, Harrington says and yawns into Billy’s arm. (Billy’s in a T-shirt. Harrington’s face is pressed up against his bare skin. He swallows.)

“I should get going.”

Harrington makes a noise of protest.

“Why?” he whines, and Billy considers telling him that he never planned on staying here this long, that he’s got a curfew, that Neil lets him stay out longer on Saturday nights only as long as he’s home and ready for Church on Sunday mornings – but he says nothing, and Harrington sighs and draws his legs up in the couch; makes himself comfortable. “You could stay.”

So Billy stays.

***

Steve wakes up with a crick in his neck. He’s on the couch in the living room, tangled in a blanket, and his mouth taste like death. He sits up slowly, and prepares for the world to spin. Surprisingly, he’s not feeling as hungover as he expected, but that’s probably because Billy poured water and Coke down his throat yesterday, and then let him sleep it off from early evening.

Billy.

Steve looks around. Billy’s not there. Neither are the pizza boxes or the bottles from yesterday – they have all been cleaned away. On the table in front of him is a glass, a pitcher of water, and a note.

_Drink up_ , the note says. _I fed the gang around 7._

Steve yawns and stretches, then looks around. The kittens are nowhere to be seen. He stumbles out into the kitchen and goes for the fridge, and that’s when he sees the bowls on the floor. Bob’s currently eating from it, and Steve can’t help but grin at the sight.

Whole nights of uninterrupted sleep are in his future, if the cats are starting to feed themselves!

He finds Spartacus and Missy in the laundry room, on a pile of towels that Steve has no memory of putting there.

There should be dirty dishes in the sink, but everything’s clean and put away. Steve wishes he could be surprised, but he’s known Billy for weeks now and while he’s not a neat freak by any means, he’s strangely careful to put things away in their right places after he’s used them. And he’s always been respectful of Steve’s mom’s rule of no shoes in the house, even when Steve’s mom isn’t there.

Speaking of.

It’s not that he’s over the moon when his parents are home. They’re friendly, but they haven’t been _close_ since Steve was a kid – if then, even. It’s just, when they’re _not_ there, he misses them – or the thought of them, maybe. The house is noticeable empty at the best of times, and Steve appreciates it when he can hear his father rummage around in the office, or when his mother is humming while tending to her plants or rearranging things in the living room. They’re basically strangers, but they’re his family, and it’s not so quiet when they’re there.

That’s one of the reasons he was so upset yesterday, he thinks. He wanted to drown out the silence.

But the thing is, that there wasn’t so much silence yesterday. Because Billy came over, and he stayed the whole day. Steve remembers him _cooking_ , even, even if there’s no sign of it on the counter now. But he made pancakes – _good_ pancakes, even. Even though Steve is pretty sure he threw them up.

On the kitchen table is Steve’s camera, and another note.

_Develop on your own risk_ , it says. _I want copies._ And then a badly drawn skull under it, which makes Steve snort.

It’s a Sunday, so he has nothing to do. Dustin calls and asks if he wants to come over in the evening, and Steve may not be experiencing the worst hangover he’s had, but he’s still feeling kind of lazy, so he hesitates until Dustin manages to pull a ‘maybe, we’ll see’ out of him. Steve’s pretty sure he won’t go, but who knows? He might get hungry. Mrs Henderson is a good cook.

He wonders, distantly, what else Billy can cook, other than pancakes.

***

Someone rings his doorbell around five, and at first he thinks it’s Dustin and the kids because they _did_ threaten to come over if Steve didn’t get back to them about tonight. But Dustin never stays outside for long; if he sees that Steve’s car is the only one on the drive, he’ll try the door and walk right in if it’s open. Since the door stays closed, Steve figures it must be Billy. A little off-brand (Billy usually knocks, instead of using the doorbell), but who else would it be on a Sunday? It’s not like Steve’s popular.

It _is_ Billy.

But something’s not right.

Steve gets a sudden flashback to that day, several weeks ago, when Billy had shown up on his doorstep looking beat to hell. Billy’s _not_ beat to hell now, but there’s something not right. He won’t meet Steve’s eye at first, not even when Steve obnoxiously waves his hand in front of his face.

“Hey, what’s up?” Steve asks, and Billy’s eyes dart up to his for a second, before he looks away again. His eyes are red, like he’s been crying. It’s jarring enough that Steve takes a step back in surprise, and Billy seems to take that as a sign to come inside.

He moves like he’s in pain and trying to hide it; he walks stiffly, and is angling the left part of his body away from Steve. Something cold like dread pools in Steve’s stomach, and it’s surprising. When did he start _caring_ about Billy Hargrove?

“Hey”, he says when he closes the door behind them. “Did something happen?” A part of him wants to reach out, but he reins himself in. Touching is probably not the best idea right now.

Billy shakes his head, shrugs with one shoulder and hides a wince, and visibly tries to gather himself.

“No”, he says, too measured. Then, “Where’s the gang?”

“Probably the laundry room”, Steve says, because the floor there is heated and they seem to really like the nest of towels that Billy made this morning. He looks at Billy – really _looks_ at him. He’s clenching his jaw so hard it must hurt, and he holds himself all wrong – he looks unbalanced, and a little pale.

“I’m gonna –“ Billy says, and then seems to run out of words. Without a backwards glance, he walks down the hallway and leaves Steve there, with a prickling under his skin that feels like worry.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Steve walks into the kitchen. Goes for the freezer. He knows frozen peas are supposed to be useful in cases like these, but he doesn’t have any peas. He’s got ice, though, so he puts some of it in the kitchen towel before taking it in one hand and making his way to the laundry room.

He’s got socks on his feet. The floor is tiled. He’s barely breathing, and the doors of this house never creak, because his father hates it when they do, and makes sure that they’re always well-oiled and silent. Steve’s father _likes_ a silent house, which may have something to do with why Steve _doesn’t_.

The point is that Billy doesn’t hear him come in. And Steve stops in the doorway, awkwardly holding the towel of ice.

Billy’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, in full view of the door, with Missy in his lap. She’s attacking his wrist playfully with her front paws, but Billy’s not reacting to it. He’s just holding her close, almost clutching her to his chest. His head is down, and his hair is obscuring his face.

He’s crying.

And it hits Steve like a ton of bricks, because he didn’t expect to see that, _ever_. And to make things worse, Billy’s not making a sound, which is … unnerving, to say the least. He’s just sitting there, eyes squeezed shut, taking shuddering breaths through an open mouth to make as little sound as possible.

And Steve? He doesn’t know what to do.

So he backs away.

He doesn’t think that Billy hears him. As quickly as he can, he returns to the kitchen where he proceeds to put the towel of ice down in the sink. He brings out some plates and puts them on the counter, and then returns to the fridge and pulls some things out. He makes sure to make a more-than-normal amount of noise, so it will be heard down the hall.

Now and then, while preparing a light meal consisting of … well, toast … he looks at the towel in the sink, and tries really hard not to think.

Perhaps ten minutes later, Billy enters the kitchen, looking wrung-out.

His eyes are even redder, and he _must_ know what he looks like – he must know that he can’t hide the fact that he’s been crying – but he also doesn’t look like he cares. He sits down, gingerly, on one of the kitchen chairs, and holds his left hand close to his body.

Retrieving the, now slightly wet, towel of ice from the sink, Steve holds it out without a word. Billy seems to consider it, but eventually he reaches out to take it, muttering a quiet “Thanks” before putting it on the back of his left shoulder and making a face.

Finding it best not to speak just yet, Steve takes the two plates of toast from the counter. He sets one of them down in front of Billy, and takes the other to the opposite side of the table, where he sits down in an empty chair. Billy eyes the toast with suspicion – and under any other circumstances, Steve would make fun of him for it – but eventually nods his head once.

“Thanks”, he says again, and he sounds resigned, now.

Deciding that it’s now or never, Steve takes a bite out of his sandwich and asks, “You wanna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Billy asks, trying to pretend that nothing’s wrong, but seemingly realizing that it was doomed to fail. He throws the towel on the table and lets his left wrist – which is looking a little swollen, now that Steve can see it properly – rest on it, while he reaches for the toast with his right hand. “Look, Harrington, just leave it.”

And Steve _wants to_ , god. He really, really wants to. Wants to drop it, and pretend nothing’s wrong, and not think about it.

But he doesn’t drop it. Not this time.

“What happened?” he asks instead.

And Billy … crumbles, in front of his eyes.

“Please”, he says, and it’s so low that Steve can barely hear it.

“Billy”, Steve says, softer this time. “What happened?”

Stuffing his mouth full of toast so he won’t have to reply, Billy turns away. But Steve’s not letting him off the hook this time. He knows – or he _thinks_ he does, at least – what happened, and now he has the strange urge to make Billy _say_ it. Admit to it.

“It was your dad, wasn’t it.” It’s phrased like a question, but it’s _not_ , and Billy knows it.

He rolls his eyes. “I stayed out past curfew. Fell asleep when I got home, and … overslept.”

Overslept, on a _Sunday_? Sundays are _made_ for sleeping until noon.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, looking him in the eye.

Billy nods. “Yeah, he just … slapped me around some.” He looks tired, and tense. “No big deal.”

Indicating Billy’s wrist and shoulder with a pointed look, Steve raises an eyebrow. Wincing, Billy correctly interprets it as the question it was.

“That wasn’t him. I fell over some … crates.” At Steve’s confused look, he continues, “I have these crates in my room, like, for furniture. And I –“ He takes a deep breath. “I fell.” Closing his eyes and probably realizing he’s only digging himself deeper, he shakes his head.

“Please, Steve, just drop it.”

“Fine”, Steve says. “Let me see, then.”

Billy actually scoffs at this. “What? No.” But Steve only abandons his seat and goes to stand by Billy’s chair. He’s looking down at Billy, who’s fidgeting in his chair and frowning.

“It’s nothing!”

“Well then”, Steve says, in a voice that brooks no argument. “Let me see.”

It’s a challenge, and Steve knows now – because he’s learned a lot about Billy during the last couple of weeks – that Billy can’t resist a challenge. And like he expected, Billy raises his chin and reaches back with his good hand to pull his T-shirt up. Steve takes a step to the side and cranes his neck to look before he can change his mind, but Billy’s stubbornly exposing his back to Steve even though he’s visibly tensing up.

There’s a long scratch with red and irritated skin going from the lower left side of his back to just below his right shoulder blade. The outer layer of skin has been torn a little, but there’s no blood. There’s some bruising, but it doesn’t look as bad as Steve had imagined.

And more importantly, it doesn’t look man-made. Billy must have been telling the truth, then. ‘Slapped him around’ doesn’t have to mean anything serious. At least his dad didn’t do _this_.

Steve has just let the relief of that wash over him with Billy opens his mouth.

“I – I fell over the crates, and then I – I guess I twisted wrong, somehow, and fell on my arm.” It sounds like he’s trying to explain himself, which he wouldn’t have to do it if was indeed just an accident. And how do you fall on your back, unless you’re backing away from something … or being pushed?

Steve narrows his eyes. “Did he push you?”

Pulling his T-shirt down, Billy doesn’t answer, and that is an answer in itself. “Look, Harrington, you’ve seen that I’m in tip-top shape, okay? No blood, no broken bones. Just let it go.”

Blood and broken bones, _that’s_ where Billy sets the bar? Steve thinks of the way Billy looked when he showed up beaten up on his doorstep the day after he’d dropped off the kittens, and feels sick. He suspected then, but he didn’t really give a shit back then. It makes sense, now, why Billy couldn’t keep the kittens at his place. And considering how Steve acted that first night, he now feels like the world’s biggest asshole.

“No I won’t let it go, what the hell?”

“Steve, _please_ , drop it.”

“I don’t understand! Why are you letting him do that to you?!”

“I said _drop_ _it_! Fuck, why do you even _care_?” And Billy’s standing up now, having scooted the chair back and turned around in one fluid motion, so he’s facing Steve. His eyes are dark, his jaw is set, but there’s also something fragile about the way he looks. Like he could break at any time.

And damn it, Steve doesn’t want to watch him break.

So. “Fine”, he says, and holds out his hands. “Consider it dropped.” The _for now_ is implied.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve’s mom finds out about the kittens, and it’s somehow simultaneously not so bad, and worse than Steve could ever have imagined it to be.

See, she comes home on Wednesday. She doesn’t call beforehand, she doesn’t leave a message – she just suddenly appears in the doorway, dressed in a fancy pant suit with a handbag on her arm, eyebrows climbing on her forehead as she utters one damning word.

“Oh.”

Steve and Billy – because _of course_ Billy is here, he always comes by after school nowadays – look up from the floor – because _of course_ they are on the floor, _of_ _fucking course_. Billy is on his back and laughing softly, and Steve is leaning on one elbow with his other hand stuck under Billy’s shirt. At Steve’s mother’s quiet exclamation, they both freeze.

Billy’s face goes from grinning to serious and deathly pale in like a second, and Steve suddenly realizes that he is still digging under Billy’s shirt.

“Oh, no, mom, wait, this isn’t –“

But she’s already turned around and walked away. Billy makes a choked noise, and Steve pulls his hand back as if burned – leaving Bob, who Steve had been reaching for and who had taken refuge on Billy’s chest, as a lump under the fabric – and scrambles up from the floor.

“Stay here!” he hisses at Billy, and hurries after his mother.

He finds her in the kitchen, having plucked one of her wine bottles off the shelf and helped herself to a modest glass (his mother never fills them to the brim – she might have _many_ , but she never has much). Hearing him come in, she turns around and looks at him expectantly, and whatever he was about to say dies on his tongue.

“Are you going to introduce me to your _friend_ , Steven?” she says, bitingly, and that’s not what those words mean _at all_.

“Mom, you’ve met him. He’s Billy, remember?” And she remembers, he _knows_ she remembers. Taking a deep breath, he prepares to dive into what will probably be the most awkward explanation in the history of explanations. “That, in there? It wasn’t what you think it was, it –“

“And what do you think I think it was, Steven?” And damn it, Steve has never been able to win in a word war against his mother. (Neither has his dad – which is probably why they even got married in the first place, because it _can’t_ have been love.)

But he is saved, _blessedly_ saved, from embarrassing himself further, by something nudging his ankle. His mother looks down and purses her lips.

“That’s a cat”, she says.

It’s Missy, to be exact. Steve picks her up – and if he’s using her as a shield against his mother’s sharp gaze, then that’s his business – and nods. “Yeah.”

“Why is there a cat in the house?”

Steve takes a deep breath. This is it.

“Technically, there’s not _a_ cat in the house”, he says and watches his mom open her mouth to contradict him. “There are three of them, actually.” That shuts her up.

“Why?” she eventually asks. “Do they belong to your friend?”

Still not ‘Billy’, which isn’t ideal, but Steve will work up to it. “Well, in a way, or. Actually, they’ve kind of been staying here for a while. For quite a while. Billy’s been helping me take care of them. He was the one who … saved them.”

“And they can’t stay at his place, why?”

What had been one of Steve’s first questions also turns out to be one of his mom’s. Figures.

“Um, his dad’s … allergic.”

His mother takes a sip from her wine glass and levels him with a considering look. He raises Missy up a bit, holds her up for his mother to see. Missy meows, a sound that just about melts Steve’s heart, but Steve’s mother doesn’t seem moved. She takes another sip.

“Your father won’t be too happy about this”, she states, dryly. Then she lets out a short laugh. “So fine. They can stay, for now. But make sure to keep the place clean. I don’t want to see any cat hair on my furniture.”

Steve, who is mentally thanking whatever deity made his parents have a falling-out this last weekend, nods mutely.

He leaves his mother with her wine in the kitchen, and goes back to the living room. Billy’s standing in the middle of the room, straight-backed and pale-faced, with Bob and Spartacus in his hands. He’s pressing them against his chest and looks about a second away from jumping through the window and running.

“Relax”, Steve says and waves at him. “It’s fine. I told her, and she says it’s okay.”

If anything, this makes Billy frown even harder. “You told her … what?”

“About the cats.”

Billy exhales and relaxes, and speaks before Steve has a chance to comment. “And what, she’s okay with it? Just like that?”

“Well”, Steve says and glances over his shoulder. “The _reason_ why she’s okay with it might be because she knows it’ll annoy the hell out of my dad, but I’ll take it.”

They bring the cats up to the second floor, and spend the rest of the evening in Steve’s room. Because while his mom said she was okay with it, it feels stupid to tempt fate.

***

Billy’s not sure how he and Harrington ended up co-parenting three little kittens, but he has to admit that that’s exactly what they’re doing. A couple of weeks ago, he hated it. Hated depending on someone else – hated depending on _Harrington_ , of all people – and he would have given anything for there to be another solution to his kitten dilemma.

Now? Now, he doesn’t mind much.

It’s kind of nice, actually, to know that there is someone else who cares about them. Someone else who can help take care of them. They never would have lasted long in Billy’s house – he knows this – and he is man enough to admit that they’re doing much better at Harrington’s place than they ever would have in the Hargrove home, even if Neil hadn’t been an issue.

And the kittens are not the only ones to thrive under Harrington’s roof. Billy himself is starting to feel at home there, too, and it’s … well. Billy from a couple of weeks ago would have been horrified, but Billy of today kind of likes it. The house is big and fancy, and Billy still feels like a bull in a china shop when he’s there, but it’s also warm and clean and feels safe. For the kittens, obviously, but also –

He tries not to think about it too much.

In school, people are whispering about them behind their backs. That in itself is no surprise – it’s probably still fresh in people’s minds how Billy beat Harrington up so badly last fall that he didn’t show up in school for a week. They’re all probably wondering what the hell happened to make the two of them suddenly act so friendly towards each other.

To be honest, Billy’s kind of wondering that, himself.

Because the thing is, that they’re not just hanging out because of the kittens, anymore. That’s a big part of it, sure, but they hang out in school, too. They smoke together, they stop and talk in the hallway, and sometimes they even have lunch together – Billy sat down between Harrington and his mousy ex-girlfriend a couple of days ago and got to see the outraged look on her face when Harrington greeted him with a smile, and it was honestly the highlight of his day.

It’s almost like they’re friends. For real.

Harrington knows about Neil. Billy knows he does – even though he hasn’t admitted it out loud, he knows that Harrington knows. But he finds that it doesn’t matter. Because Neil doesn’t exist at Harrington’s place. He looms in the distance, sure, but as long as they don’t speak of him, it’s easy to pretend that he doesn’t exist.

Billy always figured he would hate it if anyone found out. But Harrington doesn’t pity him, and he actually shuts up when Billy tells him that he doesn’t want to talk, and he doesn’t feel like he has to hide so much around him and that’s –

Well. Billy doesn’t hate it.

He’s also aware of the fact that that he’s seen sides of Harrington that Harrington wouldn’t want people to know about. He let a lot of things slip that time when he was drunk – Billy realized, then, that there are different kinds of shitty parents, just not the Neil kind – but Billy hasn’t used it to his advantage, like he might have done a month ago.

It’s like a stalemate. They both know something about the other, that they don’t want other people to find out about, and Billy’s not particularly worried that Harrington’s gonna tell on him. Because then he could tell on Harrington, and he doesn’t think that Harrington wants to risk it. He doesn’t think that _he_ wants to risk it, either. In fact, he doesn’t think that he would want to tell, even if Harrington _didn’t_ know about Neil.

It feels almost like … trust.

He still pays for the kittens to stay at Harrington’s place. He sneaks Harrington a couple of bills now and then, and buys most of the food, but Harrington’s been giving him increasingly annoyed glances when he does and also it’s starting to make a considerable dent in his savings. So even though he doesn’t really want to, he starts to consider what would be best for the kittens in the long run.

They are big enough now to be adopted. Dr Cook mentioned it, the last time Billy called, and he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. He _should_ start looking for permanent homes for them. But he hasn’t, yet.

He knows why, but he’s reluctant to admit it, even to himself; because if the cats aren’t at Harrington’s anymore, then he won’t really have a reason to go over there.

And when did that become such an important thing, anyway? It’s not like they do a lot, when he goes there after school. They … play with the cats, and talk shit, and hang out and laugh and sometimes they make something to eat and have a meal together.

It shouldn’t be the reason to get out of bed every morning, but it is.

And he knows why. But he won’t admit it – not even to himself.

***

About two months into their weird pseudo-friendship, Billy wakes up in the middle of the night with his heart in his throat because _the cats, where are the cats_? He shoots out of bed, tangles his legs in his sheets and stumbles, catches himself on the windowsill and looks around the room frantically. He’s sweaty and panicking, but it doesn’t matter because _Neil got to the cats_ , he’s gonna _kill them_ and Billy has to _do something_.

He’s out in the hallway before he stops to think, and it’s not until his hand is hovering over the handle to his father’s bedroom door that he stops. He blinks. Then he pulls his hand back and backs up, eyes wide.

The cats are at Harrington’s. The cats are _safe_. It was just a dream. A very vivid dream, in which Neil –

Billy stares at his hand, then at the door in front of him, and he swallows. Lets out a shuddering breath.

_Shit._

He almost –

He almost woke his dad up in the middle of the night because of a _nightmare_. No way would that have gone over well. He can picture the fury on Neil’s face so clearly – _because he just saw it in his dream, just before he pushed Missy down under the water’s surface –_ and it makes him cringe. He turns to go back to his room when he spots the phone next to the doorway to the kitchen.

He glances at the clock on the wall. It’s past two am. It’s a school night. He shouldn’t.

But Neil had _thrown Bob and Spartacus against the wall_ and _they weren’t moving_ , and Neil was _putting Missy under the water_ while simultaneously, somehow, _pushing Billy against the wall, forcing him to watch_ –

One little phone call. It can’t hurt.

***

Steve wakes up when the phone in his room rings. A glance at his alarm clock reveals that it’s the middle of the night, and he’s instantly awake. It’s never _ever_ a good thing when the phone rings at this time of night. He answers right after the second ring while eyeing his closet, where he keeps his bat, and reaching for the closest piece of clothing he can find and starts putting it on.

“Hello?!”

At first, there’s no reply, and he thinks the worst, but then –

“I’m sorry, I … I shouldn’t have called.”

Steve exhales sharply. “Billy?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Billy’s voice is hushed, like he’s whispering. Like he’s trying not to be heard. Steve thinks of what he looked like on that first night, he thinks of Billy’s bruised back, he thinks of the way Billy had sat in his laundry room and cried without a sound, and suddenly he needs to know that Billy is _okay_.

“Billy, wait!”

He holds his breath. Billy doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t hang up, either. Steve doesn’t know what to say. “Are you … are you okay?”

He’s wearing pants now, and looks around the room for his socks. Just in case he needs to –

– if he needs to go.

But Billy says “Yeah”, and it doesn’t sound like a lie. There’s something he’s not saying, though, and Steve is startled to realize that he’s gotten to know Billy well enough to tell. He bites his bottom lip and waits, and is rewarded when Billy lets out a breath and says, very silently; “Are the cats okay?”

Thrown for a loop, Steve frowns and answers, “Yeah. Yeah, they’re … they’re okay. Why?”

There’s a breath on the other end that almost sounds like a laugh, but tense; then silence. Then, “Had a nightmare.”

And Steve wants to ask about it, wants to question Billy’s self-deprecating tone of voice, but he’s dealt with more than his fair share of nightmares and he knows enough to keep his mouth shut. He just clears his throat, licks his lips.

“W– You don’t have to worry about them. They’re okay. I left them in the laundry room a couple of hours ago, I can … I can go check on them, if you want?”

Billy hesitates, just a second too long, before he says, “No, you don’t have to –“

“I’ll go right now”, Steve says and puts the phone down. “Hang on.”

He’s back in his room two minutes later, and when he picks up the phone he half expects Billy to have hung up on him. But when he says his name, Billy’s still there, and for some reason it makes Steve smile in the darkness.

“Yeah, they’re definitely okay – they weren’t too happy about being woken up, though. Missy was especially grumpy about it. Tell him, Missy.” And he holds her up to the phone, hoping she’ll make a sound – but she doesn’t, she just squirms in his grip. “Okay, she doesn’t want to talk to you, I bet she’s pissed off, but she’s okay –“

He shakes her a little, gently, and she lets out the tiniest meow. “That’s right, tell daddy how angry you are.” She meows again, as if on cue, and he grins. “You hearing this, Billy? She’s mad at us.”

Billy laughs quietly.

“I’m sorry, honey”, he coos into the phone. “You should go back to sleep.”

Mouth suddenly dry, Steve clears his throat. “What?”

“I was … just telling her to go back to sleep. You should, too. Sorry I called so late.”

“No problem.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. See ya.”

Steve is just about to hang up the phone when he hears Billy’s voice in the other end. “Hey, Steve?”

Steve pulls the phone back to his ear and holds his breath. “Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

***

The next day, Billy avoids him until lunch. He only slams his tray down on the table and slumps down in the chair opposite to Steve when Freddy and Sam has left, and Steve himself is about to leave. When Billy sits down, though, Steve settles back down. He discreetly looks Billy over; he looks tired, but not hurt. Good enough.

“You okay?”

“Yeah”, Billy says without meeting his eyes. “Listen, I’m gonna take the gang to see Dr Cook after school, is that okay?”

Steve wants to ask about the nightmares, but he realizes that five minutes until lunch is over is not the best time, so he just nods. “Sure. What for?”

“Just a check-up. He said they’re old enough to be … adopted, and – I, we, just wanted to make sure they’re –“

That they’re _okay_.

Now Steve _really_ wants to ask about the nightmares. And he suddenly realizes that the best chance he’s going to get to do that, has just been presented to him.

“I’ll come with you.”

“What?”

“To the check-up. I’ll come with you.” He continues, before Billy can protest, “I can keep an eye on them while you’re driving. Or, we can take my car.”

“You don’t have to –“

“No, it’s no problem, I want to.”

Billy regards him quietly for a beat, as if he’s trying to figure something out, and then he shrugs and stuffs half a sandwich into his mouth. “M’kay.”


	10. Chapter 10

In the end, they take Billy’s car. Billy insisted, and Steve is pretty sure it’s so that Billy will have an excuse to stare straight ahead, and not have to look Steve in the eye. Steve sits in the passenger seat, holding a cardboard box lined with towels – bigger than a shoebox – which they put the kittens in. It still reminds Steve of that first night, when Billy showed up on his doorstep with a box so soaked-through it was almost falling apart.

He’s been thinking about that first night a lot, lately. He’s not sure why.

The kittens are not happy. They keep mewling and protesting, and even though Billy is noticeably trying to drive carefully, the cats does not seem to enjoy getting jostled when the car turns, or drives over a bump in the road.

Steve does his best to sooth them. He feels like an asshole simply for being the one to hold the box. Billy aren’t faring any better, if the troubled glances he keeps throwing the box is any indication.

“Hey, hey”, Steve says and reaches into the box, pats Bob on the head with a finger, trying to calm him. “Don’t worry, we’ll be there soon.”

It’s not a very long drive – they get there in under an hour – and Steve has decided to wait with his questions until they’re on the way home. Mostly so Billy won’t be able to just kick him out of the car when they get there, and leave him there with no means to get home. But also, Billy seems to relax the more Steve talks about other things, and by the end of the drive, they’re talking and laughing like usual.

Steve hasn’t met Dr Cook before, but Billy seems to know him. He greets the woman at the front desk with a friendly, if somewhat shy smile. She smiles back widely, and when Dr Cook walks out into the waiting area, the man’s whole face lights up.

“Billy, it’s so good to see you. How are the little beasts doing?”

They’re escorted into a brightly lit examination room, and Steve puts the box down on a table and takes Dr Cook’s outstretched hand.

“I’m Steve”, he says, and Dr Cook nods as if he knows who he is already.

Apparently he does. “Yes, Billy’s told me about you. Good work, both of you.”

And Steve doesn’t know what to do with that, really, so he excuses himself and walks back out into the waiting area. Billy stays in the room with the cats, and really – Steve didn’t expect anything less.

The woman introduces herself as Wendy Cook, Dr Cook’s wife, and she smiles at him and brings him a cup of coffee from somewhere. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of clients right now, and when Steve asks about it, she smiles again and pats him on the shoulder.

“We cleared the rest of the night when Billy called and said he would bring the kittens in”, she says. “Someone might show up if there’s an emergency, but other than that, we should have all the time in the world.”

Steve frowns. Billy really hasn’t said much, except that he’s been in contact with a veterinarian for advice and such, but Steve senses there is more to the story than what he knows. So he takes a chance, and asks, “So, when Billy was here before ...?” Hoping she’ll continue.

Wendy makes a face and nods. “Oh yes, what terrible business it was. You know, we’ve had this clinic for twelve years in June, and we’ve never had anyone drive from another town in the middle of the night to try to save the life of a cat that wasn’t even his.”

_A_ cat? Not three? Steve stills. Holds his breath. Luckily, the woman takes his silence as permission to continue.

“The look on his face when David couldn’t save her ... oh my, it was heart wrenching. Made me want to cry.”

Steve can’t help himself. “She died?”

She gives him a puzzled look. “He didn’t tell you? He hit a cat with his car, apparently, and then didn’t know what to do so he drove all the way over here and called us up at our house, in the middle of the night. Paid us everything he had on him, poor dear. And then when David told him that she had kittens ... well.” She takes a deep breath. “He looked like he was determined to find them, but the chances were so small. So imagine our surprise when he called, the next day, and told us he’d found them!”

She gives Steve a smile and pats him on the knee, this time. “Your friend is a kind soul.”

Steve can’t quite stop himself from snorting, because he doesn’t know a single person in Hawkins who would describe Billy Hargrove as ‘a kind soul’. But in the next breath, he is assaulted by everything he’d learned about Billy in the last couple of months, and he blinks.

“Yeah”, he says. “Yeah, he is.”

Wendy, perhaps sensing that he has some thinking to do, leaves him in his chair with his cup of coffee, and walks back behind the counter and starts shuffling papers around. Steve, left to his own devices, can’t quite get her words out of his head.

There is no doubt in his mind that Billy Hargrove is still an asshole. He is brash, rude and quick to anger. He is violent – or, well, at least he _had been_ , before – and reckless, and strikes fear into the hearts of his peers.

But. As Steve has learned, he is also funny, and determined, and caring. So caring, in fact, that he had sacrificed his pride just to make sure a bunch of kittens could stay in a safe place. Steve has seen Billy’s hands – hands that had smashed into Steve’s own face not long ago – be _so gentle_ with the kittens, that Steve’s heart aches when he thinks about it.

And apparently, Billy hadn’t just _found_ the kittens. He’d gone out and actively searched for them – and found them, against all odds – and then he’d kept them for some time, until he couldn’t, anymore. Steve can piece it together in his head, now, when he knows more about Billy’s home situation. He knows that Billy couldn’t have brought the kittens to him on the same night that he found them – because he came by Steve’s in the evening, and Wendy said he showed up with them in the middle of the night – so he must have kept them hidden at home for a while. And then ... something must have happened to make him take them and run – Steve remembers the desperation on his face when he stood there in the rain outside Steve’s door, and how Steve had taken advantage of it.

He feels a little sick. Especially when he thinks about how Billy looked the next day – it is clear to Steve, now, that Billy had paid dearly to keep the kittens safe. Not just with money, even though he still insisted on paying for most of what they needed, even though Steve grumbled about it.

What had Wendy said? That he’d ‘paid everything he had on him’, when he got here the first time? Steve thinks about how Billy’s been smoking less, lately, and how he’s only ever said yes to food if it’s been at Steve’s place, and not if Steve has suggested something like a diner or something. And it clicks into place.

He stands, and walks over to the reception desk.

“Excuse me, Mrs Cook? I was wondering if you could help me with something?”

***

When Dr Cook declares that the kittens are as healthy as can be, Billy exhales in relief. When he tells Billy he’s done a good job with them, he can feel himself blushing. He can’t remember the last time someone said that to his face about something important. Not knowing quite how to take the compliment, he busies himself with picking up the kittens and putting them back in the box, one by one.

Dr Cook excuses himself from the room, and Billy says, “I’ll be right out”, while blinking and swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat.

They’re healthy. They’re okay. He did _good_.

They were his responsibility, and for once, he’s lived up to it – even if it’s not the kind of responsibility Neil has been trying to beat into him.

He couldn’t have done it alone, though. Couldn’t have done it without Harrington.

Harrington, who let them stay for longer than that one night, and who trusted him to give him the key to his house. Harrington, whose parents were terrible in a way that was far from Billy’s, but still kind of the same. Harrington, who had given them a safe space – the gang and Billy, both.

Harrington, who laughed at Billy’s jokes now, and who had strong opinions on Billy’s taste in music, and who Billy trusted with his secrets.

Harrington, who –

He stops breathing for a moment, and stares straight ahead.

_Well, damn._

One of the kittens makes a sound, and Billy looks down in the box only to be met with three pairs of big eyes. He laughs, nervously, and pulls his hand through his hair. It may just be his imagination, but the cats all look like they’re judging him. “Daddy is so fucked, guys.”

He takes a deep breath before picking the box up and walking out into the waiting room. Harrington is there, at the reception desk, seemingly just finishing up a phone call. When he sees Billy, he holds up a finger in the universal sign for ‘just one moment’ and smiles down at the phone.

“Yes, I certainly will. Yes. Thank you, I’ll talk to you later then. Have a lovely evening, Mrs Hen– I’m sorry. Claudia. Thank you. Bye.”

He hangs up the phone and walks up to Billy with a grin, taking the box from his hands.

“You trying to earn some extra cash moonlighting as a receptionist now, Harrington?” Billy asks with a raised eyebrow.

It makes Harrington laugh, and Billy’s heart starts beating faster for some reason.

“No, just had to make a phone call, and Mrs Cook was nice enough to let me use her phone.” He hefts the box up and turns towards the door, and smiles when one of the kittens protests against the movement.

“You coming?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Yeah, hang on”, Billy says and walks up to Wendy, reaching for the wallet in his back pocket.

She grins at him, and shakes her head. “Oh no, that’s been taken care of already.”

Billy frowns. Shakes his head. Opens his wallet – which contains the last of his savings, and which should be enough for this visit – and hands her the money.

She actually takes a step back, still grinning. A look at Dr Cook, who is standing behind her with a kind smile, doesn’t provide any further explanations.

“For the check-up”, Billy clarifies, and reaches out further.

“Your friend already paid, son”, Dr Cook says and nods towards the door.

Billy whirls around and is met with Harrington’s blinding smile from where he’s leaning against the doorway, the cardboard box in his arms. “Come on, Billy, what are you waiting for?”

"Did you –?” He turns to the Cooks, who are just smiling at him. “Did he –?”

“Yes he did”, Dr Cook says.

“But even if he hadn’t, we wouldn’t have let you pay”, his wife adds and walks around the counter so that she can wrap her arms around him. Billy tenses up, but she only hugs him for a couple of seconds, before backing up just far enough to pat him on the cheek. “You’re a good man, Billy. Not many people would have done what you did.”

Dr Cook comes up to him and shakes his hand. “I wish you the best of luck in the future. You can always call or come by if we can help you with anything.”

Billy doesn’t know what to say. The lump in his throat is back, and he’s afraid that if he tries to say something, his voice will crack – so he simply nods.

“Thank you!” Harrington calls from the door, before pushing it open and going outside, and Billy goes to follow him. But before he exits the building, he turns back and wets his lips.

“Thanks”, he says, simply, not knowing how to express the deep feeling of gratitude that he feels for these people.

Dr Cook puts his arm around his wife, and their smiles soften, so he’s pretty sure they get it.

When he gets to the car, Harrington is standing there, waiting for Billy to unlock it. But Billy simply walks around to the passenger side and takes the box back, dropping the keys in Harrington’s hand.

“Do you mind driving back?”

Harrington looks stricken, but shakes his head. “No, of course not.”

“If you get one scratch on my baby, though, I’ll –“

Harrington laughs and walks around to the driver’s side. “You’ll kill me, yeah, I know.”

His voice is fond, and Billy ducks his head and climbs in the car to avoid meeting his eyes.

Harrington has some troubles with the Camaro at first, as he’s obviously not used to driving a different car than his own, but he gets the hang of it eventually. Billy busies himself with the cats; refuses to look up from the box, and keeps a hand with them at all times.

After about five minutes of silence, he says, without looking up, “Did you pay for the check-up?”

He knows the answer already.

“Yeah”, Harrington says, neutrally.

“I’ll pay you back.”

“No you won’t.”

At that, Billy looks up, prepared to protest, but Harrington keeps his eyes on the road as he says, “You _won’t_ , because you’ve been paying for everything else already, and we’re in this together, and they’re _mine_ _too_ , now, and –“ He seems to be searching for words. “– and frankly, if you’re gonna have a problem with that, then, tough shit, Hargrove.”

Billy opens his mouth, but closes it again. He doesn’t know what to say. He can feel heat rising in his cheeks, and busies himself with the kittens. Harrington seems to take that as acquiescence, and nods to himself, not taking his eyes off the road.

Neither of them speaks for a long time. Then Harrington clears his throat.

“So, uhm. About that nightmare?” Billy tenses up when Harrington chances a glance over at him. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I get nightmares too, sometimes. They suck.”

Billy exhales a laugh. “Yeah, they do.”

Harrington doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t pressure him into talking, just waits patiently – and perhaps that is why Billy soon finds himself telling him about his dream. About how Neil had hurt the cats (he didn’t mention _how_ ), and how he’d woken up, absolutely convinced that it had actually happened, and that he’d almost yanked his dad’s door open in the middle of the night to confront him about it.

“And that would have been _bad_ ”, he says. Harrington nods along, like he understands – and maybe he does. “I just … I woke up, and I was so convinced that he had hurt Missy again, that I … I freaked out. So I saw the phone, and called, and woke you up in the middle of the night.” A pause. “Like a loser. Sorry.”

Harrington shrugs. “That doesn’t make you a loser.”

Billy huffs, disbelievingly. “Sure.”

“And besides”, Harrington says and grins, “was that an _actual apology_ by the one and only Billy Hargrove?”

Had this been before they got involved with the kittens, Billy would have wanted to punch Harrington in the face for that kind of teasing. Now, it makes him smile. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

“Oh yeah, sorry, didn’t think about your _reputation_ –“ Harrington shuts up, and his face does something complicated before settling on a frown. “Wait, what did you mean, ‘again’?”

“Hm?”

“You said that you were convinced that your dad had hurt Missy _again_.” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel and Billy licks his lips. Considers the pros and cons of telling him.

Again, it is the fact that Harrington isn’t pressuring him, that makes his mind up.

“We– I used to have a cat, when I was a kid. My mom got her for me, before she –“ He snaps his mouth shut. He doesn’t have to talk about _everything_. “Anyway, her name was Missy, too.” He doesn’t look at Harrington when he says this. “My dad didn’t like cats. He never liked Missy.” He falls quiet again, thinking of how to put it. He’s feeling emotionally raw as it is, he doesn’t think he can bear going into details. So in the end, he settles for, “So he killed her.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Harrington do a double-take, but he doesn’t look up. Eventually, he simply says, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah”, Billy says, because what else is there to say?

It’s getting dark when Harrington parks the Camaro on his driveway, and as they’re getting out of the car, he nods towards the house. “You’re coming in, right?” He gives a crooked little smile. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Billy’s starving too, and more than that – he doesn’t want to go home. Spending time at Harrington’s house is _always_ preferable to going home. He checks the time. He should be good for another two hours, at least, before Neil loses his shit. He’s still gonna be in trouble for missing dinner, but if he blames it on studying, or _“studying”_ – and implies it’s with some girl – then he’ll probably just get a slap, or extra chores. Either way, two hours more at Harrington’s place? It’ll worth it.

When they get inside, they let the gang out of the box, and Spartacus immediately jumps up in the couch in the living room and settles down in his favorite spot. Missy and Bob shoot off in the hallway and disappears, but Billy’s not worried – he knows they can’t get out, and if the door to the laundry room is open, Missy will often creep in behind the laundry basket. Bob’s favorite place is probably in Harrington’s room, but he can’t go up the stairs by himself, at least not when Harrington puts a piece of wood across the first step, which he’s been doing for the last couple of weeks now.

Billy smiles when Spartacus stretches, and calls out to Harrington in the kitchen, “Didn’t your mom say they weren’t allowed on the furniture?”

Harrington walks out beside him, startling him a little, and answers, “No, she said she didn’t want cat hair on the furniture. As long as I clean the house before she gets home, it should be okay.” He shrugs, and adds, “Not like I’ll have to clean that often, anyway.”

Billy looks him over. He knows that the parents thing is a sore spot for both of them, and he wants to offer his support. But he is no good with words – never has been – so he just nudges Harrington’s shoulder with his own, and is rewarded with a smile.

“Sandwiches?” Harrington says.

Billy groans. “Man, do you ever make anything that’s not sandwiches?”

Harrington smiles. “I can warm TV-dinners, and soup from a can.”

“Sandwiches it is”, Billy deadpans, and Harrington laughs.

They make their food and take it into the living room. Billy sits down in the corner of the couch that Spartacus isn’t occupying, and expects Harrington to take the armchair, but the other boy gently picks Spartacus up and places him on the floor before sitting down next to Billy. He gestures at the plate that he sets on the table in front of him, as if that would be a sufficient explanation for sitting next to Billy.

“I need the table. Spartacus doesn’t.”

Billy doesn’t know why it feels like such a big deal. They’ve been in the same couch before. Just, never this close, while they were both sober. Never close enough that they were almost touching.

Harrington digs in, and Billy follows his lead. For a minute, all that can be heard is the sound of them chewing, and the low hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Harrington is the first to break that silence.

“I’m sorry.”

Billy glances up. “What for?”

“For the way I treated you, back then. That night? When you showed up with the gang? You didn’t deserve that, and I’m sorry.”

“Pretty sure I _did_ deserve that, actually”, Billy murmurs around a piece of bread, but Harrington is adamant.

“No, no you didn’t. I mean, sure, you were an ass, but –“ He bites his lip and looks troubled. “I didn’t know … what was going on.”

Billy’s heart is beating hard in his chest, and he feels as if they’re on the edge or something. He doesn’t really want to talk about this, he _doesn’t_ , but he also feels as if it’s something they have to do. That if he doesn’t get it out now, he never will. So he clears his throat, takes a sip of his drink.

“Wasn’t your fault. And I’m sorry too. For the way I treated _you_. That ... _other_ night. You sure as hell didn’t deserve that, either.”

Harrington says nothing to this, and Billy’s suddenly terrified that his words won’t be enough – that it won’t matter how heartfelt his words are; that they will be rejected. But when he glances over, Harrington has a small smile on his face.

“You know”, he says, smile dropping from his lips. “What you told me earlier, about the cat you used to have? And your dad?”

“Yeah?”

“You know that I won’t let anything happen to them, right? That, like, they’re _safe_ here.” He looks Billy in the eye. “And that they’re _welcome_ here, any time.” He glances down at Billy’s mouth, just for a second, and Billy’s breath catches in his throat. “And, like, I’ve grown kinda fond of them lately. Wouldn’t be the same without them, really, I –“

He’s cut off, because Billy’s surged forward and put his lips to Harrington’s, and for a second none of them move. Then Billy shoots back and up, backs away, heart pounding hard in his chest, eyes wide, panicking.

“I’m sorry”, he says. “I’m sorry, I’m –“

Harrington’s standing up too, now; arms out, fingers splayed.

“Billy, it’s okay.”

But Billy can barely hear him. It’s _not_ okay – they’re _friends_ now, and friends don’t do this, friends don’t –

There are hands are on his shoulders, and Harrington’s suddenly very close. His eyes are wide and dark, but he holds Billy steady; isn’t pushing him away.

“It’s okay”, he repeats. And leans in, slowly.

Even though Harrington is basically telegraphing his movements, it takes too long for Billy to understand what’s going to happen, and then Harrington’s lips are on his, and he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t _understand_.

But he’s not complaining.

The feeling of being safe with Harrington, of wanting to be close to him, wanting to stay with him – it grows, and fills him up, and he realizes with a jolt what those feelings add up to. And at first, sharp terror runs through him – because of everything he’s been taught, and because Neil would kill him for it – but then Harrington’s hand brushes up against his neck, and all worries melt away.

When they part, they stay close together, leaning their foreheads together. Breathing in each other’s air. Billy licks his bottom lip. Harrington huffs out a laugh.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve wanted –“

They jump apart at the sound of a crash. They stare at each other for a beat, then they turn as one and run out into the kitchen, where the sound came from. Billy almost steps on Bob, as he shoots out of the room, and Harrington starts laughing. When Billy looks up, he sees why.

There are glass shards all over the floor – Mrs Harrington’s fancy vase that had been standing on the kitchen table is in a thousand pieces, and there is a splash of water across both the table and the floor.

“How did he even get up there?” Harrington laughs, and the sound of it makes Billy’s heart grow, and he can’t help but laugh, too.

“I’ll get the broom”, he says and walks carefully over to where the Harringtons keep their cleaning supplies.

“I’ll get the culprit”, Harrington chuckles, and turns. “Bob! Come here, you little goblin!”

Billy watches him go, and can’t stop smiling.


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With a soft, soft epilogue, we conclude this fic (a fic that was supposed to be a cute short piece about kittens, and which evolved into something else entirely).

Steve is late.

Billy is leaning against the Camaro – parked on the driveway now, as Mr and Mrs Harrington aren’t expected home for another couple of days – with his head turned towards the sun, eyes closed behind his sunglasses. It’s not like they set a time, but he knows when Steve gets off work and he should have been here already.

It doesn’t really matter, of course – it’s a beautiful day – but the cats are inside and he doesn’t have a key.

He can hear Steve’s car pull up beside him, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Decides to enjoy the sunshine for as long as he can. When he hears a car door open, he says, simply, “You’re late.”

“I know, I know”, Steve’s voice answers. “I had to run an errand after work!”

Billy opens his eyes. Steve’s already halfway to the door, digging in his pocket for his keys, and he’s holding a carton of ice-cream in his other hand.

“Stealing from the job isn’t an _errand_ , Harrington. You do that, like, every day.”

Steve turns around and walks backwards a couple of steps, pouting with a mock-hurt expression. “Are you seriously complaining that I brought home your _favorite flavor_?”

Billy perks up and pushes himself off the car. “Rocky Road?” Then his eyes narrow. Steve _is up to_ something. “Why? What’s going on?”

Steve puts the key in the lock and gestures with one hand. “Can’t I treat my –“ He looks around, as if to check if someone is around. “– _friend_ , to something nice without a reason?”

Billy walks up to him and levels him with a look. Steve laughs, and they walk into the house together. As soon as the door is closed behind them, Steve leans in and kisses Billy on the lips. Billy smiles into it – Steve tastes vaguely like Blue Moon, which is a _ridiculous_ flavor that he has somehow acquired a taste for – and when they back away he bites his bottom lip and raises an eyebrow.

“Ice cream _and_ kisses? Now I _know_ something’s going on. Spill.”

“Well – _hey there_!” Steve almost drops the ice cream when he’s flailing, and Billy looks down and lets out a laugh. Spartacus has snuck up on them and attacked Steve’s shoelaces, and is now stuck with a claw in one of them.

“You dumb ball of fur”, Billy says, affectionately, bending down to extricate him from it. He picks him up when he’s done and buries his nose next to Spartacus’ ear. “You cute fucking dumb ball of fur! Are you hunting for daddy’s shoes? Good boy!”

He holds Spartacus up so Steve can give him a kiss, too, and then he puts him down and walks into the kitchen alongside Steve.

“What were you saying?”

“I was gonna say, that I have news.” Steve produces two spoons from a drawer, hands one to Billy, and takes his own and the ice cream and turns right back around again, heading for the living room. “Good news, and bad news.”

Missy is in the couch, and he plops down next to her. She stands up, briefly, but then lies down again, watching them. Billy sits down next to Harrington and reaches over his lap to scratch under her chin. She tilts her head back and closes her eyes, thoroughly enjoying the attention.

“Okay. What is it?”

“Which one do you want to hear first? The good news or the bad news? Actually I have two good news.”

Billy scoops up a spoonful of ice cream from the carton which is still in Steve’s hands. It has melted a little around the sides, so he starts there. “Bad news first.”

“Okay”, Steve says and takes his own spoonful of ice cream. “You know how Claudia has been looking for places for the gang?”

Billy stills, spoon still in his mouth. “M-hm?”

“Well, she’s talked to some people, and she has a couple of friends – who lives right here in Hawkins, actually! – who have agreed to give them a home.”

Licking his lips and glancing at Missy, Billy clears his throat. “And this is bad news, how?” He’s not looking Steve in the eye – still staring at Missy, who has laid back down, and is watching him right back. A lump is forming in his throat. He clears it again.

“Because”, Steve says, “she only found homes for the boys.” Billy looks up at this, frowning and ready to protest. Is Missy not good enough for these people?

But Steve is smiling.

“Which brings me to the good news.”

Billy’s heart starts beating faster.

“I talked to my mom yesterday. Told her how _empty_ the house is when they’re not here, especially now when school is over and all my friends are busy with their summer jobs. And how, you know, it really _helps_ to have the cats here – to have someone to _come home to_.”

“Are you serious?”

“Long story short –“ He pushes the ice cream carton into Billy’s hands so he can pick up Missy and hold her up between them. “– guess who’s staying with us!”

_Us._

Billy can’t breathe, suddenly. The lump in his throat stops all words from coming out, and all air from getting in. It swells, and it _swells_ , and his eyes sting and his chest feels tight and he just –

He has the presence of mind to put the container down on the table before throwing himself at Steve, but the spoon is dropped and immediately forgotten as he pushes Steve back against the couch’s armrest and kisses him, kisses him, _kisses_ him until Missy complains between them and they have to part.

“Sorry baby”, Billy coos, and Steve snorts, a little out of breath.

“Are you talking to me or the cat?”

Steve hands Missy over, and Billy takes her gently into his hands. Brings her up to his face and looks into her eyes. She swats at a curl of his hair, and he is suddenly so full of affection that the world blurs. Blinking away tears, he nods.

“Thanks”, he says, hoarsely.

Steve says nothing; just puts his arm around Billy’s shoulders and pulls them both closer.

***

Later – ice cream melted beyond saving in its container on the table, and with Steve’s fingers running through his hair while Missy’s curled up on his chest – Billy twists his head and peers up at Steve as he suddenly remembers.

“What was the other one?”

Steve – who is petting Billy with one hand and pulling a piece of yarn with a scrunched-up piece of paper in the end across the floor with the other, thus entertaining Bob – looks at him. “Hm?”

“The other good news. You said you had two?”

“Oh yeah!” And with that, Steve shoots out of the couch, knocking Billy’s head aside and leaving him pillow-less.

“Hey! Where are you going?” He cradles Missy against his chest as he sits up, but she’s grown tired of getting jostled, and jumps down on the floor to tackle her brother. Billy’s momentarily distracted by their antics, until Steve comes back into the living room, holding a thick envelope triumphantly over his head.

“I got the photos developed!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting! I very much appreciate each and every comment, and I am so so grateful that you've read this far. Thank you! <3
> 
> I never meant for it to get this long. I'm sorry if it isn't what you expected, but if you've read this far, I guess there was something that you liked. Or you wouldn't have managed through almost 40K of almost-no-plot about kittens.
> 
> Thank you guys! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd.
> 
> It was never supposed to be this long. I don't know what happened. I just wanted to write a cute story about kittens.
> 
> *shakes head*
> 
> I don't know how it evolved into this.
> 
> ALSO: For reference of kittens climbing all over guys: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bG5fFI3eorg


End file.
